


Washing Machine Heart (Baby, Bang It up Inside)

by Basic_instinct40



Series: Same Town, New Story [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alpha Steve Rogers, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Amputee Bucky Barnes, Attempt at Humor, Body Horror, Bottom Bucky Barnes, But its fun, Dissociation, Dom Steve Rogers, Fireman Steve Rogers, Greysexual Steve Rogers, Greysexual charater, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Non-Serum Steve Rogers, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Not as dark as the tags make it seem like, Omega Bucky Barnes, Past Abuse, Past Child Abuse, Past dissociation during sex, Steve is a gentle Dom, Steve uses too many terms of affection, Sub Bucky Barnes, Top Steve Rogers, War Veteran Bucky Barnes, Weird Sex, but he is still BIG but for other reasons, but its light I swear
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-27
Updated: 2020-10-11
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:14:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 20,955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25559386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Basic_instinct40/pseuds/Basic_instinct40
Summary: Bucky’s third heat of the year isn’t far away and the idea of spending it the way he spent the first two, aching, alone, and depressed made him review the profiles with renewed fervor. This was his first year since presenting as an Omega without a mate or suppressants.
Relationships: Clint Barton/Natasha Romanov, James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Series: Same Town, New Story [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1852177
Comments: 33
Kudos: 220





	1. 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sultrybutdamaged](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sultrybutdamaged/gifts).



> And you said you wanted to crawl down deep inside  
> But at this point of the last year I am happy to be alive and  
> Like that good Hole album  
> I could live through this  
> I can live through worse
> 
> Camp Out--An Horse
> 
> A gift no one ever wanted, but those are the only gifts I know how to give.

“That guy looks promising.” 

Bucky stops scrolling through the agency’s pictures to glare at Clint. His roommate hovers over him, cheeks bulging with ramen, pointing a dripping fork at Bucky’s computer screen. “He has a man bun and listed ‘going to comedy clubs’ under hobbies.” Bucky waves dismissively at the profile picture. 

Clint thoughtfully hums while shoveling more chicken flavored noodles into his face. “But you have a man bun,” his roommate reminds him. Bucky hits his overly abused desk, swinging a warning scowl at his friend. “Alright, smartass. One, I only have one arm, my hair styling choices aren’t in abundance. Two, I wear a low bun. It’s a different vibe.” He jerks his thumb at Clint’s meal. “And three, you are making my room smell like a gas station. It’s not helping the process.” 

Clint holds his fork and warped tupperware bowl up in surrender. “Okay, dude isn’t your type. Got it. But that’s the fourth set of pictures the agency has sent you, and your heat is coming whether or not you find Mr. Right.” He tips the bowl back into his mouth, slurping the last of the soup in one go. Bucky thinks Natasha should be recommended for sainthood considering the couple were hitting their three-year mark. Clint swallows audibly, giving him a sincere greasy frown. “I’m just trying to help.” 

Bucky rolls his eyes, but takes the harshness out of his voice. “I know you are.” Turning back to his computer he clicks the spacebar, scanning through the agency’s approved list of Alphas. Clint's words ring in his head as they continue to examine the men. Bucky’s third heat of the year isn’t far away and the idea of spending it the way he spent the first two, aching, alone, and depressed made him review the profiles with renewed fervor. This was his first year since presenting as an Omega without a mate or suppressants. 

He’s lucky that being a veteran meant the military paid for him to pick a heat partner from one of New York’s finest mating agencies. Bucky is unlucky to be on a slew of antidepressants and pain meds for the arm he lost when his unit’s Humvee went over an IED while he was stationed in Afghanistan six years ago. The medication that let him function in a halfway decent state didn’t mix with his Omega suppressants, forcing Bucky to suffer through all four of his yearly heats. Experiencing the first two alone almost made him miss Alexander. Almost. 

“That guy is nice looking,” Clint says, nodding towards the picture. “Wouldn’t kick him out of bed for eating pizza.”  
Bucky eyeballs the fair skin, dark haired man. He has a haughty, regal elegance to him that makes Bucky sure he would bark like a dog and like it. “What the fuck kinda name is Loki? Nah, pass.” He ignores the weary sign from Clint and clicks through a couple more pictures. Bucky is about ready to call it when he stops on a profile. The man in the picture is handsome in an obvious frat boy way, with honey blonde hair and ocean blue eyes. He knows that if he had seen this man in a bar during his former life, where Bucky was the bearer of two arms, he would have pulled him to bed in a heartbeat. 

The Alpha’s profile says his name is Steve, which makes Bucky chuckle. Steve claims to be 6’3 and is stacked with plenty of muscle for him to throw Bucky over his shoulder like a sack of hay. Clint leans in, whistling out a chicken lanced breath. “Oh, yeah, that guy has it,” he exclaims. Bucky smacks his chest, shutting Clint up. 

“You don’t know what ‘It’ is that I’m looking for,” Bucky says. He stares at the picture of the Alpha, wondering if the dark blue sweater he wears is as soft as pictured. Bucky imagines it under his face. “Guy looks like your standard knothead,” he sneers. He looks exactly like the type who would grab him by the arms and put Bucky under until he couldn’t remember who he was anymore. Bucky would rather endure a thousand heats alone than lose himself in another person again. He points the cursor at Steve’s eyes, questioning the delicate slant of the stranger’s jaw line. 

Clint knocks against the desk. “Well, is he the one?” 

Bucky stares at the picture, sending out a silent wish to the universe. To the unknown Steve. _‘Like me. Oh, please. Like me.’_ It’s a pitiful chant and the last of his goodwill, but he sends it out all the same. 

“He’s a possibility.” 

Bucky sends an email to the agency letting them know that he is interested in Steve and two days later he receives a packet of secondary information on the Alpha. It’s laying on the kitchen counter when he comes home from his afternoon energy systems class. It contains a more in-depth written background on Steve. Bucky reads it with mild interest, noticing that Steve has a typical Alpha career as a firefighter. He’s never been mated and has no desire for children anytime soon. Perfect for Bucky. 

The page he’s most interested in is the list of kinks and hard nos that Bucky also had to fill out. He lays the list on the counter, massaging at the tough scar tissue that surrounds his residual limb. They have more in common than not, and Bucky is thankful that the Alpha doesn’t want to piss on him to get off or have him make steamboat sounds in bed. He is so absorbed in reading he doesn’t notice the woman in the room until she exhales over his shoulder. 

“Body painting and tickling are on the table with this one,” Natasha says, approvingly. 

Years of sniper training stop Bucky’s impulse to leap out of his skin, instead he clamps his eyelids shut and inhales a steady gust of air. Natasha brings the scent of a friend, and Clint’s lavender air freshener. But friend or no, Natasha is still an Alpha, and her overpowering predator scent crashes into him. Bucky’s hindbrain alerts him that he is cornered prey, that he is pinned down with few options. Fight, flight, freeze, or faun. The old survival instincts beat out a harmonious death march. Fight. Smile. Fuck. Play dead. 

_Alexander’s voice in Bucky’s maze of a mind, unspooling his insides until he is left an empty shell. He’s so deep down and can’t reach himself to stand up. “Play dead for me, Bucky. Yeah, just like that. Just lay there.”_

Clint’s musty dog smell swims through the memory, carrying Bucky back to their kitchen, far away from Alexander. “Hey, man. You’re fine.” He cuddles into Bucky, fierce and merciful. “You’re here, okay?” He nods into Clint’s shoulder, relaxing his face, one muscle at a time. Natasha peers at them, now several feet away, shoulders bowed, and hands held slack near her sides. 

She raises them up and out, a practiced submissive gesture. “Bucky, I’m sorry. I know better.” She shakes her red curls out, shielding herself. This isn't a practiced act and Bucky reminds himself of Natasha’s past. He shrugs Clint off with a good natured pat, favoring the Alpha with a smile, an old visage of the handsome boy he was once. “It’s all fine, Nat. You know, us old army vets easily scare.” 

The three of them know this isn’t why Natasha shouldn’t sneak up on him. “I know better,” she repeats, standing straighter. “It isn’t fine and I apologize. You shouldn’t be made to feel uncomfortable in your own home.”

“Jesus,” Bucky mutters. His skin burns with shame, and he wants them to stop gawking as if he is some sideshow attraction. He envisions a bright advertisement above him. “One armed freak cries if anyone says boo at him.” 

A furious itch flares along his neck and Bucky gouges at the irritation with his bitten down nails. “I’m going head to bed for the night, sorry about--,” he flops his palm in the air, and then to himself. Clint’s scent is anxious, adding to the stink of stress that pervades the room. “What? You don’t need to go. We could order pizza,” he pleads. “You can pick the toppings?” 

Bucky gnaws at the inside of his cheek, swallowing down a loose patch of skin with his answer. He picks up the fallen papers and side steps Clint. Natasha wordlessly trades spaces with him, her soothing Alpha voice not meant for his ears. “He needs to be alone, Clint. It isn’t you.” 

_‘No,” Bucky thinks. “It’s me. It’s always me.”_


	2. Chapter 2

The brief but emotionally bulky event depletes him of energy, and Bucky sinks into a gloomy sleep with all of his clothes on. He awakens hours later, body sluggish and grappling with lost time. Finding his phone, Bucky groans when he sees that it’s two in the morning. His bladder kicks at him, prompting him to stand and walk across the hall to the bathroom. 

After he pees for what seems like days, Bucky washes his hands, organizing a mental to-do list. He has homework in all four of his classes, a weekend of shifts to power through, and, oh yeah, decide if he wants to let a random Alpha fuck him for an uncontrollable biological need. “You know. Just a couple of insignificant tasks,” he whispers to the empty bathroom. Trying to compose himself, Bucky splashes icy water down his face, asking the regular tap water to absolve him of all past sins. “Good luck with that,” he tells the sink.

The homework can wait, and his shift at the bookstore isn’t till mid-morning. He shuffles back to his bedroom with a glass of water and two cold slices of pineapple and sausage pizza left out with a note from Clint. It reads, “Take your meds,” in his messy scrawl. A thirty-two-year-old man shouldn’t grow weepy from a note. 

The Alpha’s file is strewn across the carpet, dropped in his haste to reach the bed. Bucky picks it up, thumbing through the pages, re-reading Steve’s curated summary of his life. There’s a snippet of the other man’s medical file letting Bucky know that Steve carries no STDs, doesn’t drink alcohol, and has infrequent ruts. The last part is probably why the strapping, successful Alpha is working with a heat mating agency. Off balanced ruts usually lead to infertility. He checks Steve’s age, four years younger than Bucky. Steve’s best bet is to use Bucky’s heat to regulate his own biology if he ever hopes to start a family. 

The remaining item is a small plastic bag that holds a square folded piece of fabric. It’s an inky ochre color, and when Bucky takes it out, an incredible scent bursts forth. His nose fills with the rich aroma of coriander and ripe black plums. Before he can stop himself, Bucky smushes the square of fabric to his nose, inhaling deeper, absorbing the underlining notes of brand new leather of a fast car and the bouquet of geraniums that were left behind on the dash. It’s a head rush that Bucky isn’t prepared to handle. He jumps from the bed, forcing himself to drop the fabric and pace around his room. Bucky isn’t some shy teeny bopper omega smelling their first Alpha in rut. He’s been around the block once or twice, seen the scenic view, but the scent trickling from the fabric screams out at him like a banshee across the moors. “Get a hold of yourself,” Bucky mutters, eyeing the fabric as if it might grow legs and stomp on him. 

He opens his second-story apartment window, spraying scent neutralizer until his head stops spinning with dreams of being married to a strange Alpha and birthing his 2.5 kids. _‘Yeah, not happening,’ he angrily thinks._ Screw his biology. 

Collecting himself with improved composure, Bucky sits back down and handles the fabric as if it’s an active explosive. He realizes that it’s a handkerchief, and stitched in dark blue thread are the initials S.G.R. “Huh,” he exhales in puzzlement. The initials are obviously Steve’s, but Bucky doesn’t understand why he would send the handkerchief. The Alpha must have had his mother, or sister sew it for him, assuming any Omega would fall ass over heels at the odd but touching gift. 

Alexander’s scent had been a smothering odor of blood oranges, dried out cedar and burnt cinnamon. When he’d first met him at a military bar, Bucky found the older man compelling if not intense. His intensity kept their relationship alive long after it’s death. The only gifts he ever bestowed on Bucky were colorful insults. Flattening the handkerchief down on his pillow, he decides to take a chance on the Alpha and lets his mind play out a fantasy where someone like Steve could fall in love with a person like Bucky. 

“Dumb brain,” he scoffs at himself, balling up the handkerchief and stuffing it back into its bag. He hides it further by shoving the bag under his mattress, but the scent lingers. Bucky grabs his pack of cigarettes, he’d quit half a dozen times, but found sticking to one a week the only way he wouldn’t fall into total relapse. He blows smoke out of his window and towards the not yet risen sun, wishing that he could deal with his heats alone. That he didn’t need to take a whole pharmacy to function normally, and that he had two arms. But Bucky wishes above all else that he’d never met Alexander Pierce. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Another week goes by before Bucky hears from the agency, this time by phone. He nearly doesn’t answer the unknown number that flashes across his cell screen, walking back from his closing shift at the bookstore. 

“Hello?” 

It’s a woman who tells him her name is Darcy and identifies herself as an Omega liaison with the mating agency. “Is this James Barnes?” 

“It’s Bucky. I go by Bucky,” He clarifies. 

“Right. Okay. I’ll make a note of that.” Darcy actually sounds as if she is writing. “Well, I wanted to let you know that the Alpha Steve Rogers has accepted your application.” 

“Oh. Goody.” Bucky tries to keep the sarcasm out of his voice. 

“Isn’t it?” She says cheerfully, oblivious to his tone. “I want to tell you that he was one of our top candidates. Could have had his pick of the Omegas.”  
Bucky pauses to the side of the subway’s entry steps, waiting in annoyed silence for the woman to explain why she’s calling. “That’s good for him,” he finally says. 

“Well, we strive to make the best matches here at Shield. Now, the Alpha has requested a bit more information from the omega before they meet.” 

Bucky bristles with irritation. This Steve Rogers already knew more about him than people he was friends with. What more could he want? “Okaaay,” he draws out. 

“I’m going to send you a copy of his questionnaire to your email. No rush on getting it back, although we do have your heat listed to take place within the next two weeks. Is that correct?” Darcy said all this in one rush of breath, leaving Bucky off kilter. 

‘What the fuck could be on this questionnaire?’ he wonders. 

“Ummm alright?” Bucky answers in confusion. 

“Great, and if you have any questions, you can call this number back and ask for me,” she chuckles a little over the phone. 

“Okay. Thank you, Darcy.” Bucky simply wanted to get home and rest. Damn Alphas and their demands. He gets off the phone and shuffles down to the subway, his thoughts heavier than his exhausted legs. 

He doesn’t open the email until after a nap and a bit of homework, a stubborn streak of not wanting to abide by a stranger’s orders running through him. Fixing himself a turkey sandwich, Bucky’s curiosity takes hold of him. It surprises Bucky to see a questionnaire asking him mundane questions. It starts off by asking what his favorite color is and what restaurants Bucky likes to eat at. The list requests additional intimate information as he reads on, asking what his best childhood memory is and what was Bucky going to school for. 

“Jesus, this guy wants a lot,” Bucky whispers around a mouthful of sandwich. Wasn’t it enough that he's a semi-attractive Omega about to go into heat? 

He continues to read the email and is taken aback when he sees that Steve has sent his own filled in Q & A. Apparently, the Alpha’s favorite color is blue, he will eat whatever is put in front of him, but is inclined towards Italian food. Steve gives Bucky a more in-depth backstory, letting him know that his mother passed away several years ago, and he became a firefighter out of a sense of duty. He lists his hobbies as embroidery, which makes Bucky cackle out loud. 

“An Alpha that sews,” he says to the empty kitchen. “Explains the handkerchief.” 

Finishing his food, Bucky shakes his head at the antics of the strange man. He replies with vague answers about studying engineering and his past army experience. It all feels like a cheap ploy to appear decent and not as if Steve was looking for a hole to rut in. But Bucky has learned the hard way about what happens to omegas who don’t comply with the orders of an interested Alpha. Better to shut up and give them what they want. 

He types away, wondering if Steve will be able to read the unwillingness that coats his responses. Bucky envisions pieces of himself being snipped off and sent to Steve via the internet. He shakes off the image and finishes the email, turning his thoughts to unfinished homework. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Bucky wakes to familiar nagging pressure in his lower abdomen. His temples pulsate outrageously, and his traitorous body whines at the idea of leaving bed. They are all tell-tale signs that by this time tomorrow he’ll be shit deep in his heat and of no use to anyone. Bucky coerces himself to get up and starts making plans for the upcoming week. The bookstore will let him off work and he makes a note to check up on his classwork pile, knowing that he will be out of commission for the next four to five days. There’s only one other omega in his engineering program. The other guy tried to make friends with him back at the beginning of the semester, but Bucky didn’t want to make friends based on his designation. Plus, the other omega is mated and younger, making Bucky feel like a battered crone in comparison. His professors are mostly Alpha assholes who seem startled whenever Bucky speaks, as if he is a zoo animal that learned a peculiar trick. He never informs them of when he goes into heat, instead Bucky gets by, working through his syllabus ahead of time. 

Walking to the kitchen in search of coffee, he bumps into Clint, who grunts out a hollow, “Morning.” Bucky chuckles at him, leading the bleary-eyed man towards their coffee pot. “Think you can handle it?” he asks while taking inventory of their meager food supplies. Clint gives him a half-hearted salute before stifling a wide-mouthed yawn. Bucky scoffs and continues rifling through their cabinets and pantry, making a note of what he will have to pick up at the grocery store. He’s pleased to see they have the ingredients to make cornbread and he excitedly groups the ingredients on the counter. 

Clint funnels away half of the coffee pot and Bucky whacks him away from the rest, filling up his own mug. Nodding towards the counter Clint asks if he’s going to make them breakfast, which makes Bucky snort into his coffee. “No, lazy. That’s for me. My heat is starting tomorrow.” He eyes his roommate over the brim of his mug. “You might wanna clear out, go to Natasha’s till it’s over.” 

Clint nods, sucking down the rest of his drink, cheeks redden with caffeine. “You gonna be okay? I could stick around, or Nat can come by to meet the guy?”  
Bucky swallows his annoyance down with the last of his coffee, shaking his head no at Clint. He knows his friend is looking out for him, but nothing screams damaged Omega more than another Alpha having to chaperone his dates. “Nah, I’ll be good, man.” Clint’s face is doubtful, but he doesn’t press the issue. “Well, I’m here for you and so is Natasha.” He sits his mug down on the counter and cups one of Bucky’s shoulders. It’s a friendly touch, one that wants nothing from him. He works at standing still underneath it, counting to fifteen before squirming away. 

“Get your dirty paws off me,” Bucky jokes to cover his discomfort. He wants to be able to accept the physical comfort that is offered, but Bucky would prefer not yearning for it at all. It makes him feel like a needy Omega, always wanting someone else’s hands to soothe him. 

_“You’re so needy, Bucky,” Alexander’s words stalk around his head, and the cramping ache from earlier flares through his belly. Alexander’s fist around his throat, Bucky’s body under his control, an empty vessel to be used. “Looks like I got myself a little bitch in heat,” he sneered. Bucky can’t move. But why would he? He was only there for Alexander’s needs._

“You’re hurting yourself. Stop!” Clint’s yell brings him back to the present, and he winces when he feels the fresh rawness across his knuckles. He’d been scraping his fist along the pointed edge of the counter, his mind and body disconnected. “It’s nothing,” he snaps at Clint, shrugging him off. “I’m fine.” Bucky turns towards the sink and runs the lukewarm water over his wound while counting his breaths. He’s fine. 

Behind him, he can hear Clint making more coffee and Bucky concentrates on those safe recognizable sounds. “Maybe you shouldn’t have this guy over. You can try--,” Here Clint falters and Bucky laughs bitterly, shutting off the tap. 

“There’s nothing more to try, Clint, and you know that.” Bucky takes one of the dish towels that’s wrapped around the oven door and uses it to dry himself. “I’m fucked no matter the situation.” 

Clint watches the coffee drip into the pot, not acknowledging his friend. Once the pot is full he picks it up, filling up his and Bucky’s mug. “I know it’s hard to believe, but when I first met Natasha, she hated me. Said I smelled like a wet dog crate.”

Bucky snickers. “Yeah, well I’ve seen Nat in action right before your heats. Gross animal cages must be her thing.” 

Clint smiles wickedly. “Oh, she loves my scent. Lady, can’t get enough, but that’s not why I bring it up.” He’s smile vanishes, replacing itself with a grim frown. “It was hard for her to get close with me after what happened to her when she was a kid. You know that.” 

Bucky takes a drink from his mug, nodding. Clint had explained a little of Natasha’s background, an Alpha girl child forced to live as an omega for most of her life, used as a sick fantasy for a domineering step-parent. Clint continues talking, his eyes staying on his own full mug of coffee. “Natasha never thought she’d want to be in a sexual relationship after that. She was worried about hurting me, about treating me right when all she knew of sex was pain.” 

Bucky glances at Clint, unsure of what to say. Everyone knew someone who knew someone with a story like his and Natasha’s. Bucky isn’t unsympathetic, but he didn’t need to collect other people’s tragedies when he was starring in his own horror show. “It’s a shitty thing, what happened to her.” 

“It was a shitty thing that happened to both of you.” Clint’s forehead is etched with determined frown lines. “Which is why I’m telling you this now. Don’t force something on yourself if you aren’t ready. Don’t punish yourself if you aren’t done healing.”

“And if I’m never done?” Bucky’s question is as much for himself as it is for Clint. “What then? I don’t deserve to be alone just because of that asshole.”  
Clint views him with sympathetic eyes. “Hey, you’re not alone and you can’t let that piece of shit win.” Bucky squashes down an eye roll, not wanting to hurt the other man’s feelings. The words mean nothing in the grand scheme of things, but he knows that Clint is trying. He fakes a grateful smile, using a trick he knows his roommate will fall for. “I know, man. Thank you. Now, if you hustle, I’ll let you go to the grocery store with me and pick out a snack. You can even stir the cart like a big boy.” 

Clint snorts, the tension drifting from his features. He puts his mug in the sink and walks towards the hallway. “Fuck you, dude. Be glad you make amazing cupcakes.”

“Who said anything about cupcakes?” Bucky hollers after him. When he’s sure Clint is in his room, he slumps to the kitchen floor, his knees colliding with the tile. The quick thud of pain is nothing compared to the jagged stabbing that courses through his pelvis. It’s not the first time that someone has cheered him on with ‘don’t let him win.’ A useless battle cry roared after the slaughter. Alexander won, he’d gotten exactly what he wanted, and Bucky would never be the same because of it. He’d lost.


	3. Chapter 3

After grocery shopping with Clint, Bucky spends the rest of his day stress baking and washing various sets of his sheets. During his heat it wouldn’t be safe for Bucky to go outside of the house to eat, and his body would be resistant to leaving to the company of a rutting Alpha. 

“Gross,” Bucky mutters as he ices the top of a cupcake. The idea of a stranger’s bodily fluids invading his bed disgusts him, which is why he is currently on his third load of laundry. Doing things in his home came with complications, but it also gave him the perks of making the rules. Clean sheets every day were non-negotiable. The baking helped him not starve during that time. 

Bucky isn’t the best cook, but ever since he lost his arm, he’d become a decent baker. Six years of grueling physical therapy sessions had nothing on his repeated attempts to make his first jiggly cheesecake. The hobby allowed Bucky to use his talents, acute focus and paying close attention to detail. Funnily enough, these were the same skills that made him an excellent sniper. 

He thinks back on his time in service with a mixture of bitter misgivings and lost opportunities. He’d enlisted on his 18th birthday, too young and stubborn to know better. The military chews up and spits out kids like him every year. He’d only lasted because he was handy with a long-range rifle. As soon as he was of no use, they tossed him aside for the next sharp-eyed soldier. Bucky beats those thoughts away as he takes the chocolate bread pudding out of the oven. His head is too full of what future regrets he might make to contemplate past ones. There were times he felt ashamed of the new found hobby, a stereotypical Omega skill, but then his baking never killed anyone. 

Bucky finishes icing Clint’s cinnamon buttercream cupcakes and sends him off to Natasha’s with the promise of texting him every day. He checks his emails to make sure the mating agency has informed Steve of his impending heat and then changes the sheets on his bed. There’s not much else to do, but tidy up the kitchen and settle in for the night. He might even spring for an extra cigarette to steady his nerves. Making use of the empty apartment, Bucky takes a blanket and lays on the couch, ignoring the triple pounding of his anxious heart. He’d always known the Alphas he shared his infrequent heats with, and the army kept him on a strict regimen of suppressants. It wasn’t until he was out of the service that he had to deal with his heats alone. Alexander could probably scent the desperation wafting off of him, making it easier to shape Bucky into what he wanted. 

Bucky tosses and turns on the lumpy couch, expecting stiff back muscles come morning , but he can’t bring himself to sleep in his room. The next time he laid in his bed, it would be to have sex with a stranger. The first sex he would have since his break up. He stares at the ceiling, willing his hyper-aware brain to calm. When he finally stumbles into sleep, he dreams of being chased while barefoot in a deserted parking lot and a shadow assailant hunting him. He never sees the hunter, but Bucky knows it’s merely a matter of time before he is captured. 

A suffocating blanket of agony jolts Bucky awake. His skin boils, and he wrestles with his damp T-shirt until he gets it off. A film of flop sweat covers his face, blinding the search for his phone. When Bucky finds it, the screen illuminates the time showing it to be six in the morning. His heat is in full swing at the ass crack of dawn, and Bucky sincerely curses his designation for the millionth time. He groans through another full body cramp, punching the couch cushions weakly. The pain ebbs and flows while Bucky dials the mating agency’s after hours phone number, letting the Omega support team know to alert Steve. 

Hanging up after giving his address, he drags himself to the bathroom. “Let’s get this fucking show on the road,” he grumbles, turning on the shower and stepping inside. The hot water does wonders for his twisted back, but does little to ease the quivering ache in his abdomen. A wash of tightness ripples through his entrails, and Bucky slaps his wet palm against the shower wall. He wants to reach into the depths of his cavity and pull out the inoperative organs.  
A flash of memory passes over him, his bloody arm laying unattached and newly isolated in the Afghan dirt. After surgery Bucky made the mistake of asking the nurses what they did with his arm and when he pictures another part of him wrapped in a medical waste bag his empty stomach rolls with promise. 

He turns himself on autopilot, concentrating on the soapy loofah, instead of the intrusive thoughts. The agency said that Steve would be there within the hour and it had to have already been fifteen minutes since he placed the call. The sudden realization of a stranger seeing him naked gave cause to take extra care with grooming. He observes his naked chest in the mirror while brushing his teeth, glad that he kept up with his rigorous workouts despite the influx of baked goods. The scarring along his left shoulder wasn’t attractive, but Bucky refuses to be ashamed. The Alpha would have to deal with it or leave. There’s more than a day’s worth of scruff across his jawline, but he forgoes shaving, deciding it isn’t worth the effort. Instead he rubs unscented moisturizer on his face, wondering if giving Steve decent head could put him in a bargaining position for a shoulder massage. 

It’s been close to an hour since he called, and Bucky gets dressed in a rush of nervous energy. He steps into cheap soft black biker shorts and a well-worn pomegranate colored pullover. Leaving his damp hair loose, he walks to the kitchen and drinks as much water as his stomach will allow. Bucky doubts that the Alpha will remind him to eat and drink once he is shoved inside of him. Sitting back on the couch with a piece of cornbread, his knees bouncing as he flips through Netflix. He puts on a tv show about a group of magical graduate students and manages to relax himself into a nap. 

A scream startles him awake from one of the blonde actresses on TV, her melodramatic acting doing no favors for the sharp needle-like prick that moves above his right eye. Bucky pauses the show and checks the time, blinking in disbelief when he sees that he has been asleep for over an hour. Re-dialing the hotline number, Bucky’s lower abdomen lurches with unattend to cramps. With the phone ringing in his ear and his heat burning him up from the inside out, Bucky doesn’t notice the polite, but persistent knocking at the front door.  
“About time,” he mutters darkly. Ending the call, Bucky limps over to peer into the peephole and is greeted by an empty hallway. “Christ on a cracker,” he growls. Bucky unlocks his phone to cuss out every employee that works at Shield, when another knock rattles his door. He squeaks a gasp that under oath he would never admit to making and checks the peephole again. This time it treats his vision to a hulking mass swath in a crimson t-shirt. The figure is standing so close to the door, Bucky is unable to see its face. 

“Ummm, Bucky Barnes?” asks the towering figure. The deep tone pierces through the solid wood and drives a jolt of trepidation from him “Or uh, James Barnes? Sorry, I was told you go by Bucky.” The giant form shuffles on the other side of the door. 

‘Oh, joy. I got myself a dumb one.’ Bucky sighs and finds a shred of mercy for the idiot. “Could you back up from the door, please?” he yells out. The maybe, ‘Steve’ seems to freeze. “Bucky?” he asks, still not moving away. 

Bucky groans as a cramp socks him in the gut. Counting to twenty, he rides out the pain. “Look, I can’t see your face because your barn door chest is pressed too close,” he clenches his jaw, working past the hurt. “Please step the fuck back so I can identify you.” 

“Oh,” responds the useless Alpha. “Oh, right. Sorry. Of course. Sorry.” The enormous outline continues to apologise as it moves away. Steve’s face comes into view and Bucky is embarrassed by the amount of slick that slides down his shorts. It’s a good face. Steve sheepishly waves at the peephole, an uncertain, but kind smile spreads across his face. “Sorry,” he repeats and Bucky growls at the further dampening of his shorts. The door unlocks under his uncontrollable fingers and Bucky is standing face to face with Steve Rogers. The Alpha’s lagoon blue eyes expand at the sight of Bucky, and he holds out one of his colossal hands for him to shake. “Hi, I’m Steve.” 

Bucky is about to make a wisecrack about him knowing that, when Steve’s scent strikes at him. It’s the same dark plum scent from the handkerchief, but the intensity of corianders and geraniums has been dialed up, reminding him of a garden during the height of spring. Bucky wants Steve to use his broad hands like sandpaper and buff out the rugged parts until a smoother Bucky remains. He shakes the lustful concept away even as his thighs stick together with slick. _‘Act like a person, not a braindead omega,’_ he chastises himself and reaches for Steve’s outstretched offering. 

“Hey, come in. I’m obviously Bu-,” any attempts at normal conversation are tapered by a knife blade convulsion that rips him from groin to chest. “Shit,” he gasps, and keels over. Expecting to meet the concrete floor of his hallway, Bucky is pleasantly caught off guard as Steve catches him within his two tree trunk arms. His turncoat body releases a content moan as Steve scoops him up and carries him across the threshold. It’s a horrific display of his biology, how good Bucky instantly feels being carried by the Alpha. The ache of want is still rampant, but as Steve moves them towards his bedroom, the hurt lessens, leaving Bucky begrudgingly indebted. The slight reprieve makes him aware of what Steve is asking. 

“This is your room, right?” Steve peers worriedly at him. “It smells the most like you, but the entire apartment smells of you.” Bucky confirms it’s the correct door they are standing in front of and Steve somehow twists the knob open without dropping him. Steve sits him on the bed as if Bucky is a fragile heirloom and not 180 pounds of military trained killer. 

“Hey, honey. You don’t feel to good, do you?” Steve’s gentle voice jerks at the bottom of Bucky’s gut. “It’s okay, sweetheart. I’m here and we can do whatever you want to make you feel better.” He pets at Bucky’s clammy hairline, sending him into a spiral of confusion. This is not how Alphas usually act, he’s experienced more of the “Rut, fuck, and run” type. Steve’s cool hands travel to cradle his overheated neck. “I left my bag at the door, which we left open. I should probably go lock it.” He strokes up and down Bucky’s neck, playing him like a familiar instrument, bringing tiny docile sighs out of him. Bucky contemplates shooting them both before he shames himself further. The sounds please Steve and the bedroom overflows with the scent of plums and expensive leather. 

“I’ll be right back, honey.” The removal of Steve’s hands makes Bucky whimper in protest. “Hey, no. Listen, pal. I’m coming back. I won’t leave you alone.” Bucky nods, but he can’t help the wetness that pools underneath him. Steve rises from his squat near Bucky’s knees, his handsome face painted with tenderness and sympathy. It’s the sympathy that lifts Bucky out of lust ridden stupor and he digs his nails into his palm, a welcome distraction from the Alpha. “Go lock the goddamn door,” his throat cracks as he speaks, but he throws a glare at Steve to show he means business. 

Steve must truly be dense because he responds with a wide open grin that’s sweeter than anything Bucky could ever bake. The abnormal reaction to his murder glare flings him into another confused state, and he sends Steve off with a rough “Go.” The man leaves the room with a low chuckle and Bucky takes the brief break to flop back against his pillows, grappling with the weird situation. It’s not that he hasn’t tried casual sex, it’s that there isn’t space for casual with heats. The chances of receiving a claim mark from a rutting Alpha goes up higher during an Omegas heats. Bucky had no interest in being claimed, but the dopey way his body was acting towards Steve could make that difficult. He scowls down at his dick, “You aren’t making the decisions in this family,” he firmly tells it. “We don’t need some beautiful nitwit messing with our plans, kay?” 

“Are you talking to your crotch?” Steve asks from the doorway. He is holding a glass of water and has taken off his shoes. 

Bucky fisted his bedsheets, his skin flaming with embarrassment. “No,” he nearly shouts. “Why the hell are you lurking around my apartment?” he gestures at the water glass. “I see you made yourself at home?” Bucky knew his behavior was bordering on rudeness, but being in proximity to a new Alpha put him on the defense. 

Steve folds his lips into a thin line, but he doesn’t seem annoyed with Bucky. He approaches the bed with a newfound caution. “I didn’t know if you’d be thirsty so I got you something to drink.” Steve hands the glass to him without sitting down. Bucky casts a suspicious glance at the water. Alexander liked to get him to his lowest points before he brought Bucky water, and that was after he made him beg for it. 

Steve touches the side of the glass, nudging it towards his mouth. “Hey, drink,” he softly commands. Bucky drinks the water, figuring that if it’s poison, he would at least be out of it for whatever Steve does to his body. As he drains the cup, he scrutinizes the standing man, noting that his tawny hair differs from his profile picture, now shaved to a buzz cut. “Your hair isn’t the same,” he states, placing the glass on the bedside table. 

“Oh, yeah,” Steve curls his sizable bicep to ruffle the shorn hair back and forth. “Some of my hair got singed in a fire a couple of weeks ago.” The self-deprecating smile he gifts Bucky makes his stomach somersault. He rises to his knees on the bed, lifting a disbelieving brow at Steve. “Aren’t you supposed to wear a helmet?” he trails his index finger along the hem of his pullover. Steve could smell that he was aroused, couldn’t he? _‘Guess I have to lead this dumb pony to water.’_

“Yes, but I was standing outside, and it was hot.” Steve retorts. His face pinks up as he tells this to Bucky and he sends a silent thank you to his past self for choosing shorts he doesn’t mind ruining. He squints at Steve, wondering how he could make his face stay that specific shade.  
“Well, fires are hot, Steve.” Bucky takes his pullover off in one sweeping practice move and gets the desired effect he wants. Missing appendages and thick layers of scar tissue that wrap around his shoulder doesn’t stop the alluring perception Bucky is presenting. He has yet to convince himself of his own attractiveness, viewing it as an abstract theory, but he didn’t need to convince anyone else of it. Steve crowds into him, but doesn’t yet touch. It’s endearing, but unnecessary. Bucky is a sure thing, at least for the next couple of days. Tugging at the waistband of Steve’s jeans he brings them chest to chest. Bucky thighs are a slip and slide of pent up desire. 

“Yeesh. You’re a pretty one.” Steve tells him. The blue of his eyes darken beneath the flurry of his lush eyelashes. “Can I kiss you and you know--,” he strokes Bucky’s neck, the pads of fingers tracing his scent gland. The light touch sends a lazy, shaky, drift of hysteria from the top of his spine to the head of his cock.  
“Go ahead, doofus.”  
Steve leans in, fitting his laughing mouth along Bucky’s and using those massive hands to hold him in position. The kiss is unsteady the way all first time kisses tend to be. It takes them both a minute to calibrate the rhythm, a steady lively beat grows between their lips and Bucky’s pulse pumps doubles time to keep pace. Steve breaks away to trail his mouth to Bucky's cheeks, seeking out connection in the crook of his neck. 

Bucky can’t help, but to disintegrate when Steve’s tongue circles his jugular. “Oh,” he slips out, feeling a touch of Steve’s stupidity. The short lived exclaim urges Steve on, scraping his teeth on Bucky’s neck, and kneading the muscle above his shorts. “Yeah, that,” he affirms. The need to be closer moves Bucky to caress his fingers throughout Steve’s cropped hair before stopping to cup the axis of his spine. Their lips meet again, a greediness to the kiss, now that they know how to sync up. 

It’s Bucky’s turn to break away, and Steve whines at the lost warmth. “Help me out of these,” he instructs, laying on his back. Steve does as he told, and Bucky observes a flash of uneasiness on the other man’s face. He halts Steve from pulling the rest of his clothes off. “You okay?” he asks.  
Steve favors him with a relaxed half smile before puckering a kiss to Bucky’s wrist. He keeps his mouth pressed to Bucky’s median nerve as he answers. “Yeah, I’m more than good. You?” 

Bucky’s smile isn’t relaxed, it’s a compressed ball of bones, blood, and muscles begging to be unbound. “Yep, but I’ll be better once you take my pants off. Don’t firefighters have to have a sense of urgency. Where’s that hustle?” 

Steve tugs down his shorts in a fluid motion, climbing on the bed and straddling one of Bucky’s thighs. His eyes pin every part of Bucky to the bed, examining him with fevered fascination. Bucky squirms under the scrutiny and tries to speak, but the words get lost as Steve takes his dick in hand, prompting a guttural sob from deep within. Steve’s eyes reveal his true smile, it’s still kind, but its vicious sincerity rattles Bucky’s perception. 

“You have a fire in your pants?” he sweetly taunts. “You need me to help you?” Steve uses his free hand to gather the unused slick, his fingers brushing at the ache inside of Bucky. Bucky’s heart and ribcage dispense a shallow whine as Steve sucks Bucky off his fingertips. “Touch me,” he pitifully wails. 

“Oh, honey. I am.” Steve's lips curl into a deviant grin as he dips his slick soaked fingers back into Bucky’s mess. “You just taste really good.” He licks his hand again, while his other palm remains dry and immovable. Bucky humps at the air, seeking friction. Tears leak out of his eyes and he shines them towards Steve. “Please, please, please,” he whispers in between hiccuping gulps of air. 

Steve levels his face alongside Bucky’s. He kisses both cheeks and licks into his mouth, feeding Bucky the taste of himself. “Of course, sweetheart. Anything you need from me, I’ll give it to you. Alright?” He lifts up and slides his face between Bucky’s legs. His heat riddled brain is puzzled as to why Steve’s face is enclosed in the folds of thighs. “Umm, Steve. I haven’t done this in a while, but I’m pretty certain that you have to get inside of me if you want to kn-,” 

Having two capable fingers slip inside of you isn’t the worst way to be silenced, especially when they are accompanied by searing lashes of Steve’s tongue against his balls. All previous doubts are erased from Bucky’s mind as he tumbles towards his first orgasm. “Fuck,” he bites out, thumping his skull into the mattress. Steve adds two more fingers, coaxing choked curses from him. “You’re so good, sweetheart. So, easy for me, aren’t you?” Steve kisses at the glands in his thighs, nipping at the built up muscle that Bucky’s worked so hard to maintain. The fingers inside of him set a pace that is almost savage in contrast to Steve’s words. He removes Bucky’s captured leg from underneath him, spreading him out, and hauling his ass to rest on Steve’s jean covered knees. 

The angle allows Steve’s knuckles to submerge inside of him, tilting his ass to the point that only Bucky’s shoulders and head remain on the bed. “There you go, baby. I have you.” It’s not what he’s used to, but the gentle praise and relentless assault waged on his prostate forces a second orgasm out of him. Steve is quick with recognition, plopping his ass back, and coating Bucky’s face in open-mouth kisses. “Such great work, baby. You open so wide for me.” His pleased Alpha scent engulfs Bucky, a hefty fragrance of burnt floral arrangements. Coming twice has buried him in a daze as he fights to get out of it and asks why Steve is still wearing pants. His question has yet to leave his mouth when a familiar tapping flints inside of him. Steve swallows his unuttered protest, smoothing his sweaty hair. “You got another one in you, honey. Let it out.” He sits back on his heels, admiring the destruction of Bucky. “You’ll get there, babe. I’ll help you.” 

His dick weakly twitches at Steve’s call to action. Another spent, futile member of his renegade body. He tries for compassion, pouting up at Steve, whose sole focus is on the puppet show starring Bucky Barnes.  
“Steve,” Bucky wails. Steve doesn’t stop his careful prodding, but he does give his full attention.  
“Bucky, baby. I know you can do this,” he coaches. He clasps his empty hand around one of Bucky’s hips, slotting his thumb in the dip of his pelvis. All four of Steve’s fingers direct pressure to his prostate, the stretch of his hand asking for more than Bucky is prepared to give. It’s an irritating itch he can’t scratch, a budding sneeze that never releases, and all the while Bucky tries to achieve the goal Steve has set. “It’s—it’s a lot,” he stutters. “This is too much.” 

Steve’s pace doesn’t falter, but his face turns serious. “If you want me to stop, I will. Just tell me. Do you want me to stop?” 

Bucky doesn’t want that, but he doesn’t know how to explain that ‘wanting’ has vanished from his reality, leaving behind an abyss that he cannot handle on his own. Steve asks if he wants to stop again and he firmly shakes his head, no. The other man’s smell and voice swell with happiness. “Good, baby. You’re taking it so well. Now, fucking cum all over my hand. Make it sloppy, honey.” 

The filth of Steve’s mouth trips Bucky over, he lets out a restrained scream. Steve encourages with affectionate cheers. “Aww, sweetheart, you did so well. You made me so proud. Thank you.” He’s courteous with Bucky as he takes his fingers out, pulling off his shirt to clean them both, all the while thanking him. He watches Steve’s action through blurry eyes, his brain not processing information fast enough. Steve’s massive naked chest looms over him while being cleaned, and he drags a sloth-like index finger to poke at one of Steve’s nipples. 

“Why the hell were you hiding all of that?” he slurs. Steve’s face and neck color with Bucky’s new favorite shade of pink. “Give a guy a couple of orgasms and this is how I’m treated,” he scoffs. Bucky watches him toss his soiled shirt on the carpet, biting his tongue to stop the reprimand. His eyelids flutter with exhaustion, and he yawns till his jaw cracks. Steve settles in next to him, wiping his eyes with the heel of a palm. Even in his fatigued state Bucky’s mind crackles and pops with inquiry. An Alpha not fucking a heat addled Omega is nearly unheard. Bucky low self-esteem demons jab tiny soul-cutting insults of fault at him 

‘Whatever, he just made me cum like he was getting paid for it, so jokes on him,’ Bucky bristles inwardly. He decides on a more dignified question. 

“Why were you late this morning?” 

Steve’s blinks his eyes open, turning his idiotic show horse face to him. “Oh, sorry. I never said. There was a fire. I helped put it out.” 

Bucky rolls the length of his naked body against Steve's partially cloth one. He screens the man’s face for any hint of amusement, but is unable to find any. “So, you get a 911 text that a needy Omega needs to be fucked and you’re literally putting out an actual fire?” he cackles from the absurdity of Steve’s problem. 

A pillow wallops him in the face, ceasing his hysterics. He clutches it for cover, waiting for the next attack from the peaceful giant. When it doesn’t come, Bucky chances a peak at the Alpha whose eyes are shut once more. Steve has to be embedded with an all-seeing third eye because his eyelids stay closed when he speaks. “You aren’t needy, Bucky. I chose to be here with you.” They’re both silent long enough for him to think Steve is asleep, but is proven wrong when a tremendous forearm locks him into spooning. “Rest. Save your smart ass remarks for the next round.”


	4. This Setting Isn't Normal (Put Me On Delicate)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky starts up the shower and then opens the door to Steve’s mopey mule face. “Jeez.” He rolls his eyes and waves Steve in. “Wipe that look off your face and get in here.”
> 
> The Pretty Pony Alpha Man annoys Bucky some more, featuring too many terms of affection and a chat over carbs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I appreciate everyone who has taken the time to read and comment on this story. 2020 is a wild trip, but so am I. My plans are to wrap this up within the next two weeks because I have to wrestle my NASBB down and that story is a beast. I hope someone out there enjoys this.

There’s a low hum vibrating under his ear. The sound comes from a rock-like mass that Bucky humps at with a short, desperate circling of his groin. The demand comes alive inside of him, expanding itself until Bucky’s body fails to contain its appetite. It drills a pit inside of his body, and desperation consumes every cell that generates his being. He grinds into the mass, not concerned with who or what it is as long as it aids him in feeding the demand.  
“Bucky, baby.” The hum breaks through the surface of his starved-out delirium and shapes itself into a recognizable voice. “Wake up, angel. Talk to me a little.”  
Bucky doesn’t want to talk. He wants to cum, and he shows it by furiously rubbing his cock against the warm humming intruder. The intruder tugs at his hair, ripping him up and aside from the safe cranny that his face laid in. “Wake up.” The hum shifts to actual words that Bucky can understand.  
He drags Steve’s dopey cerulean gaze into view, and Bucky grunts out a cranky plea that will shame him in remembrance. He can’t afford modesty at the moment. Not with Steve fisting his neck into a perfect angle for him to scent. Bucky’s legs widen, his cock frantically seeking out any form of friction, gleefully finding it when he hooks one calf around one of Steve’s jean covered thighs.

“Honey, you’re getting us filthy.” Steve’s eyes hold him in and turn him out. “You’re going at me in your sleep like you need something.” An easy but meaningful grin spreads Steve’s face in half. “Do you need something?” 

Bucky nods, feeling on the verge of hysterics. His slick pours over and out, easing his perverse gliding, and Steve delivers several nips directly at his scent gland, cascading a tickling tremor from his neck to his toes. Steve halts his assault of Bucky’s senses to weave his fingers around  
Bucky’s chin. “Will you do me a favor, sweetheart? Just a small thing I need from you, okay?” 

He whines out an almost answer as Steve nuzzles his smooth cheek opposite Bucky’s scruffy face. “Ask me for it, please. Ask me to get you off.” He paws at Bucky’s naked chest, darting his enormous thumbs over his tight nipples. “Ask me to give you what you need,” he begs.

Steve’s voice matches the ravenous frenzy that’s in command of Bucky, bidding him to give in. He hitches his leg up for better access, squeezing Steve in close. “Come on, ask me for it. Let me help you,” he urges Bucky. The force of his words splits his throat open. “Fuck, Steve, please.” Bucky pulls at the tight grasp holding his hair, his mouth leaping for any part of Steve he can get. Steve’s wide chest jerks when Bucky finds his nipple, sucking a hot wet kiss to it. 

“Yeah, alright,” Steve murmurs, heavy and ragged. “Get the fuck up here.” He heaves Bucky on top of him, quick and dirty, their bodies not quite aligning. It’s sufficient for Steve, who grabs hold of Bucky’s overly taut cock. He shoves Bucky’s face into his neck before curling his forearm along the length of his back. Steve pries him open with a little work, two fingers, and then three. “Oh, honey, you’re so goddamn wet,” he informs Bucky. A slicked-up fist methodically works him up and down, urging a reaction. He gives Steve one, a muffled cry, as he feels his orgasm taking root. “Yeah, fuck yourself into my fist. Get what you need.” 

“Oh, fuck!” He comes with his mouth pressed against Steve’s scent gland, emptying everything out onto his belly. “There you go. Just ride that out, sweetheart.” Steve lifts the weight of his head to kiss at Bucky’s entire face, before sucking on his bottom lip. “So good for me,” he utters after each kiss. Bucky allows Steve to kiss him until his thighs stop shuddering. He’s attached to the front of Steve with a glue made up of their sweat, tears, and his cum. 

“Okay, enough of this.” Bucky slides off Steve with as much dignity as he can manage. He rises and stretches his back until he gets a satisfactory pop between his shoulder blades. An inspection of Steve finds him snuggling up on the bedsheets as if he is on his way back to sleep. Bucky reaches out and shakes the man’s minivan sized shoulder. “Nope, sorry, pal. You’re not going back to sleep. We are both disgusting. Shower time.” Steve grabs his palm and tugs Bucky back to the mattresses. He flops his head on Bucky’s thighs, using his long pony-like eyelashes to trail butterfly kisses to the naked man’s stomach. “We could just lay back down. I’ll lick you clean,” Steve breathes. 

Bucky curls his lip in disgust. “Gross. Get up, you sicko.” He hurriedly stands, plonking Steve’s head back on the bed. “Why are your jeans still on?”  
Steve jolts upright, swinging his feet to the floor, a wired sharpness to his movements that wasn’t there before. “A shower sounds great, lead the way.” _‘Okay, this is going to be a thing.’_ He wants to push the subject, but Bucky wants a shower and to brush his teeth even more. He lets out an irritated sigh and walks stiff hip to the bathroom. Steve follows behind silently, a lame mare too gorgeous to be set out to pasture. Bucky stops him in the doorway, one foot held out to keep the other man from following further. 

“You aren’t going to watch me pee,” he states with all the authority a naked, sperm-covered man could wield. “You’ll stay out here until I open the door again.” Steve opens his mouth to argue, but Bucky stops him. “And while I’m in there, you’ll think of the reason I haven’t seen you in the buff yet. Got it?” He doesn’t wait for Steve’s answer before shutting the door in his dreamy, moronic face. 

_‘What was the deal with this guy,’_ Bucky ponders as he lifts the toilet seat. It has to be something horrifying for an Alpha to forgo knotting him. His mind swirls with the possibilities. _‘Could Steve have a micropenis? Or A gigantic one?’_ An image of a 12-foot dick lunging at Bucky makes him chuckle. If Steve’s justifications are something that he couldn’t deal with, that would be more than a disappointment. It might force Bucky to call Natasha to challenge Steve if he didn’t leave on his own. 

He washes his hand and avoids his reflection in the mirror. _‘oh the joys of being an omega,’_ he thinks bitterly. _‘Years of combat training go out the window the moment he flies into heat.’_

Bucky starts up the shower and then opens the door to Steve’s mopey mule face. “Jeez.” He rolls his eyes and waves Steve in. “Wipe that look off your face and get in here.” Bucky steps in the shower for the second time that day, ignoring the steady stream of urine hitting the water and his own internal monologue. A lone silhouette takes shape from behind the shower curtain. “Uh is it okay for me to join?” 

Bucky picks up his shampoo, attempting not to make his displeasure so fraught and visible. He relies on his army’s mental conditioning to suppress his emotions. The same conditioning that saved his life numerous times during arguments with Alexander. _“Smile, Bucky. I could be worse,”_ he liked to warn him. 

Bucky puts in the effort to make sure Steve can hear the smile in his words. “Come on in. The water’s fine.” He hears Steve’s metal zipper unfastening, then the unmistakable sound of jeans dropping onto the tile floor. Bucky lathers shampoo through his scalp, evading the pointless round of mental gymnastics his brain wants to play. Steve slinks in behind him, his shoulders hunched over as if he is trying to minimize the space he amasses. 

Bucky schools his face to conduct a passive, unapologetic inspection of Steve’s body, top to bottom, growing bolder as he checks off the Alpha’s anatomy. A clueless beautiful face, tow truck-sized pecs, a lickable belly button, and—oh thank god! A perfectly adequate looking dick.

‘It’s more than adequate,’ Bucky muses. Steve is bigger than him, but that wasn’t uncommon with Alphas. He isn’t fully hard, but Bucky can tell that Steve will be fun to ride once he is at full mast. The concept of doing that projects itself inside Bucky’s head, a full feature-length film where Steve’s dick writes the script.  
“Hey, bud, think you can stop gawking at my pecker long enough to let me get under the water,” Steve says, playfully. 

Bucky drops his arm from its raised position in his hair, snapping his eyes up to meet Steve’s. He gulps and swallows the soapy water as it runs down his face. “Uh, yeah. Sure.” He gestures at Steve to switch places with him, determined not to steal a glance at the newly revealed third party. They perform an awkward slippery dance that leaves Bucky in the chilly open air. He isn’t bothered by his new location once Steve is under the spray of the shower. 

A content groan sprouts from the deep rumble of Steve's chest and Bucky’s mind takes a heat funded trip straight to domestic bliss island. His daydream is an all-exclusive package of Steve fucking him until he is pregnant, then flashes to Bucky, round and full with their child. He imagines golden-haired blue-eyed babies at his feet while he reads to them and their strong Alpha looks on protectively. 

The thoughts are Bucky’s but then they aren’t. They’re a biological urge encoded within him to mate and reproduce. These trite fantasies of Bucky, Alpha, and a baby make three, are hijackers born out of his genuine feelings, and put him in a hostage situation with his own identity. He shivers at that thought of him as a father, and he can’t determine if it’s because of repulsion or delight. 

“Oh baby, are you cold?” Steve doesn’t wait for his response. Instead, he trades places with Bucky, positioning him in front of the showerhead while his fingers lightly trace his jaw. “You still have shampoo in your hair. Tilt it back and we can rinse it out.” 

Bucky does as he told, closing his eyes to the hot soapy water. Steve stands behind him, hip to hip, and uses his bear claw hands to massage the product down the drain. “My name is Bucky,” he tells Steve in a dazed voice. “I’m not a baby.” 

The warmth of Steve’s chuckle coast gently along Bucky’s chin. “Is that right? How silly of me to think of a pouty man like you, as a baby.” Steve nips at his protruding bottom lip before Bucky can relax his face. He balls his fist up, leaving it at his side, restraining the overwhelming need to touch Steve. He summons every ounce of resolve he can manage and wrests his eyes apart.

“You wanna explain the lack of knot in my ass, Rogers?” Bucky asks, sternly.  
Steve extracts himself from kissing the skin below Bucky’s ear and cradles his face within both hands. Bucky feels like a wounded baby bird in the hands of an ancient titan. Water clings to his equine length lashes as he studies Bucky. “I’ll explain it to you, but will you do something for me, huh?” Steve slides one hand down to trace half of Bucky’s collarbone. “Will you let me kiss you, please? Can you be a sweetie and let me?” 

Bucky is nodding in compliance before the other man can finish the request, not caring that he is being played like a well-loved fiddle. Steve smiles into his mouth, darting his tongue inside with teasing quickness. Bucky indulges the Alpha with a charitable whimper, circling his arm around Steve’s billboard size shoulders. 

Steve’s heartbeat knocks acquisitively into Bucky’s chest cavity. “You gonna be my sweet baby and let me kiss you?” He whispers, wrapping Bucky’s dick in his immense grasp. Steve eats the moans that escape from him, hoisting a forearm around Bucky’s ass to keep him upright. “Be my baby, okay? Be my sweet guy. It’ll make me happy.” 

Bucky nods as if that’s the best offer he’s ever received. He arches in Steve’s persistent shakedown. There’s a man on a mission like focus overtaking his eyes. “Say it, then. I wanna hear you.” He slows the rhythm of his wrist. “I need to hear you say it.”

Bucky gives in to the torture tactics. “I’m your baby, Steve.” He mouths against the iron plates of Steve’s chest, reveling in the effect his words have on them both. “I’m your sweet guy.” 

The bathroom steams with hot water and the luxury scent of their shared elation. “Thank you, honey.” Steve trails his lips down Bucky’s stomach, then both of his hips. He kneels down, swirling his tongue in the soft brush of Bucky’s pubic hair. The sight of Steve’s mouth near his dick almost sends him into a frenzy. He’s had a beta or two suck him off before, but Alphas generally overlook omegas in that area, favoring the anatomy that was best to please them. It’s jarring how sexy he finds Steve, wet and on his knees before him. It detaches the filter from Bucky’s mouth to his brain. “Steve, I still need to put conditioner in my hair,” Bucky deadpans. 

It’s the first time someone’s ever rolled their eyes at his cock. “I’ll put conditioner in your goddamn hair, ‘kay Rapunzel?” Steve mocks. 

“I thought I was your baby?” Bucky is teasing, of course he is, but he wants to be reminded. He cast aside thoughts of self perversion, already growing dangerously fond of Steve’s sweet firmness. _‘It’s just the heat sex,’_ Bucky reminds himself. 

The faint growl Steve releases makes Bucky jerk in his fist and pay attention to the kneeling man. Steve’s eyes bore into him and Bucky curl’s in closer. His hands shake in an undecided manner along the curves of Steve’s shoulders, and he can’t help the way he shamefully drags his cock in the Alpha’s grip. “You’re my baby, Buck,” Steve doesn’t take his gaze away as he speaks to him, low and intimate. “Need you to hush, now. I’m busy.” 

He sucks a pressured kiss on the head of Bucky, his tongue slipping in the slit, and his empty hand gathering the slick of Bucky’s body. He swallows him with the finesse of an expert and Bucky can’t stop picturing Steve on his knees for other omegas, taking them in with the same dirty ease. Jealousy and crude possessiveness roll in his gut, wrestling with the slimy enjoyment he receives from the imagery. He flicks his hips, fucking into Steve’s face with carnal debauchery. Bucky compensates for the brutality by scratching lightly at the man’s scalp, producing tiny hums of gratitude. He tilts his head into the torrent of the shower, drowning out his own noisy completion. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
Steve works two orgasms out of him, bringing Bucky near the orbit of his moral senses. They finish showering, laborious hair routine included. He sends Steve off to dress and get acquainted with the coffee pot. Bucky combs the product through his hair, comparing this heat with his last two. Going through the process alone left him exhausted, not to mention the recent wrist aches it made him suffer. When he could bear brief moments of honesty towards himself, Bucky did admit he found enjoyment in heat sex with an Alpha. He liked sex and all the amusements that came with having it. But the out-of-body delirium Bucky experienced when he was with an Alpha was his favorite. Bucky knows some of his fondness for the act came from the alleged submissive sexual nature of being an omega, but he senses that the greater extent of it came from an innate rawness that held itself beyond his designation. 

Alexander could put him down with a firm pat to his head, using his heat-induced rut as justification for his cruelty. Mating those times marooned Bucky for days in a cyclone of emotions, abandoned by Alexander due to his hate of Bucky’s so-called needy nature. 

_“You act like a cock-starved imbecile,” Alexander laughed, pushing Bucky to the floor as he got dressed to leave. “Can’t even feed yourself. You pathetic excuse of a man.” He kneeled down, shoving his sneering face at Bucky. His calloused hand stealing all air. “You want to get used so badly, I’ll make sure your loose hole gets used.”_

Ripe plums and burnt leather envelop his present, knocking the comb from Bucky’s lax fingers. Steve tangles his naked chest in a crushing hug and lavishes his neck with protective scenting. He’s caught in a whiplash of past and present. Steve’s towering figure keeps him afloat in the now.

Bucky clears his throat to speak, patting the Alpha’s back. “Hey, I’m alright. It’s okay.” 

Steve doesn’t speak as he cuddles Bucky’s face into the hollow of his throat. With one last squeeze, he pulls away, inhaling deeply, rubbing the tender points of Bucky’s back. “It didn’t seem like you’re okay. I couldn’t feel you anymore. Almost like I was in the apartment alone.” 

Bucky has never had his mental checkouts described this way, and he finds he doesn’t like it. Twisting out of Steve’s arms, he clocks the other man with an exasperated stare. “Well, you worried for nothing. I’m right here.” He tries for casual detachment, tightening the towel around his middle. “Did you find the coffee?” Not waiting for a response, he steps into the hallway, away from Steve, “I’m going to put some clothes on. Meet me in the kitchen, will ya?” 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dressed in a pair of dark blue boxer-shorts and a butter-colored shirt, Bucky finds Steve stooping over the breakfast bar in the kitchen. He didn’t notice what the Alpha was wearing earlier, but Bucky is pleased to see a practically painted on, bright white v-neck squeezed over Steve’s sculpted frame. “One of those mine?” he lamely jokes, pointing to an unattended coffee filled mug. 

“Bucky, I’m worried about you-,” 

“No need,” he cuts Steve off. “That’s not what you’re here for.” Bucky stares into the inky void of his mug as he speaks. Steve recently learned how to bring him to orgasm several alluring ways, but didn’t know that Bucky hated to drink his coffee without milk unless forced.  
His verbal swipe lands where it needs to, sending a rotten flower scent of hurt from Steve. He can hear the other man’s jaw clench from where he stands. Having Steve upset with him doesn’t do Bucky any favors, and it’s nice that the strange Alpha even takes the time to ask after him. Plenty wouldn’t.  
Bucky offers an apology without having to say so and asks Steve if he’s hungry. Steve nods, but his dimwitted face still appears hurt. Concealing his annoyed frown, Bucky finds his sugar jar and scoops copious amounts of it into his coffee. “I’m starving and you’ve done all the work so I bet you are too.” He speaks hurriedly, trying his best to drag them away from a potential argument. “I have cornbread, bread pudding, muffins,” he list. 

“That’s a lot of carbohydrates.” Steve plays along, letting the subject of what happened in the bathroom go for now. 

“Burnin’ through a lot of energy.” He winks and chugs his coffee the same way he has seen Clint do many mornings. Bucky is sure that having sex with Natasha as your Alpha isn’t for the faint of heart and begins to understand his roommate’s addiction. Feeling a little more human now that he has caffeine in his system, Bucky opens the fridge and pulls out the pan of cornbread.  
He cuts two thick slices for them both, grateful that Steve lets him work in silence. Bucky sneaks glances at him while he heats the food in the microwave and tries in vain not to bite at his nails. Alexander had told him how disgusting and lowbrow Bucky looked every time he had unconsciously done it. Steve isn’t paying attention to him, his eyes drawn to his phone as he swipes absentmindedly through an unknown app.

“You like spicy food, right?” Bucky asks, more out of awkwardness than consideration. 

“In moderation. It’s alright.”  
The microwave dings after what feels like an eternity, but was only twenty seconds. Bucky brings the plate over to the bar for them to share. “Dig in.”  
Steve, thankfully, isn’t one of those house guests that need to be told twice. He’s three mouthfuls in when his face flushes scarlet. He bugs his eyes out accusingly at Bucky and fails to suppress a stuttering cough. Bucky chuckles and gets them both glasses of water, patting Steve on the back as he gulps down his glass. “Damn. That is spicy,” he manages to squeak out. 

“I put a whole jar of jalapenos in it,” Bucky cheerfully tells him. 

“You made this?” Steve surveys the cornbread, seeming impressed, and takes another bite despite the burn. 

“Oh, yeah. I did.” Bucky says, feeling ridiculously bashful.  
“This is professional-grade stuff.” Steve pops the rest in his mouth. “I could eat the whole pan.” The complement goes straight to Bucky’s inner omega instincts. He wants to feed Steve everything in the fridge and then spread his ass for the Alpha, in the ultimate display of domestication. Bucky bites his tongue and cautions himself that he made this food so he wouldn’t starve through another heat.

“There’s more in the fridge.” Bucky works to make his tone neutral. “You are more than welcome to help yourself.” 

Steve takes the suggestion well and moves to the refrigerator to peer inside. “You made all of this?” 

“Sure did, pal.” Bucky stares at Steve’s bulky frame and pictures Steve tossing him over those sturdy shoulder muscles in a fireman’s holds. That could be fun, Bucky thinks, but first, he needs Steve to be honest with him. “You wanna read me in on the lack of knot situation?” 

Steve stiffens at the question, his head tucked low on the third shelf, and Bucky can only guess what the man had been considering eating before he pursued the question. He is about to repeat himself when Steve’s movements speed up in a cartoonish manner. His lengthy arms disappear into the depths of the icebox, shuffling various Tupperware containers around in an artless guise to dissuade Bucky from the current subject. Bucky watches him, sniper frozen, from his vantage point at the breakfast bar. Steve’s behavior is confusing, but he doesn’t yet feel that prickly edge of threat from the Alpha. 

Finally, Steve concedes to their silent stalemate, facing Bucky with an expression that he is certain Steve puts on to enter a burning building. He unwraps a plate of large cranberry muffins and shoves half of one into his mouth. It doesn’t seem as if Steve chewed the pastry before swallowing. “Okay,” he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “Alright, I guess we do need to talk about this.” 

Bucky leans over the counter to grab a muffin out of the tray. “Yep,” He pops the “P” harder than is necessary. “So get to explaining.” 

“It isn’t anything horrible like what you’re thinking.” Steve sounds as if he is on the brink of panic. 

Bucky bites at his muffin, starting from the bottom. He takes his time eating, hoping that Steve will continue. When he remains silent, Bucky sits his pastry down on the counter and glares at the Alpha. “You don’t know what I’m thinking, bone-head, so just spit it out before I kick you out of my apartment.”  
Surprisingly, Steve grins at him as if Bucky has recited a declaration of love. “Yeah, no. You’re right. ” The Alpha nervously wipes at his sweatpants, the smile vanishing from his handsome face. “Umm have you heard of Greysexuality?” 

Bucky wrinkles his brows in confusion, taking a mouthful of muffin to gain pause. Truthfully, the answer is no. But he didn’t want to seem ignorant in front of Steve. He shrugs, avoiding eye contact, and squashes the rest of the muffin into his cheeks. 

“It’s alright if you haven’t. It’s not something that’s commonly talked about in our society. Especially by an Alpha.” Steve whistles out an anxious sounding breath. “So you know—you know how Alphas—how Alphas go into—into rut?” he stutters. 

Bucky uses Steve’s embarrassment to meet his eyes. “I’m aware of the concept.” 

Steve’s face and neck turn midsummer strawberry red. Bucky bristles with annoyance at the amount of attention his cock is willing to waste on this fool. He genuinely needs Steve to hurry up and reveal the skeleton hiding in his closet so it can vacate the premises. Then he needs Steve to bang Bucky senseless in the said closet. 

“Well, I don’t do that,” Steve says, simply. Only, it’s not so simple. Alphas go into rut. Omegas go into heat. If Bucky knew you could opt out of the entire ordeal, he would have gladly done that. Sign him up. 

“What do you mean you don’t go into rut?” Bucky asks. “Why would you be working with a mating service if you didn’t? 

Steve defensively crosses his arms around his chest. “My job ordered me. It isn’t good for an Alpha in my line of work to go so long unmated.”

Bucky squints at Steve’s haircut and remembers what he said about being too close to a recent fire. He’d served with a couple of unmated Alpha’s back in Afghanistan and knew the early warning signs of Steve’s condition. “Let me guess?” he asks, not waiting for an answer. “You started putting yourself in high-risk situations instead of going into rut?”  
Steve nods in confirmation.  
Bucky continues. “I bet you stop sleeping as much. Taking every call instead and you practically live at your fire station? That sound about right?” 

Steve’s hands drop to his waist. “How did you--”  
Bucky waves his words off. “You Alphas aren’t all that mysterious, no matter what you tell yourself. Your baseline instincts are to feed, fuck, and protect what you think is yours. If you aren’t giving into those, everything else in the noggin gets kinda screwy.” Bucky swirls his index finger near his temple, before sending a salacious wink at Steve. “Don’t worry. You spend a couple more hours with me and we can take care of your problem.” 

Steve forgoes replying. Instead, he worries at his bottom lip, picking at an uneaten muffin in silence. Bucky watches him, not sure what to make of his reaction. His heat presses him to reach out and soothe Steve, even though he isn’t sure why Steve needs soothing in the first place.  
He watches Steve’s burly, but precise fingers shred his uneaten muffin onto his plate, and Bucky notices a line of uncertainties and misgivings etched between his brows. He wants to kiss his thumb and smooth out that worry line, vanish it from Steve’s face forever. An unintentional whine of solidarity anguish escapes Bucky’s throat, dragging the other man from the recess of his mind and back to the kitchen. 

His expression is soft, but guarded. “Bucky,” Steve speaks his name deliberately, not using one of the dozens of pet names Bucky realizes he prefers. “My sexuality isn’t a problem and I won’t let you or anyone else make me feel like it is. I’m not here to treat an illness.” Steve straightens himself to his full height. “If you want me to go, I will. I can contact the agency and tell them that things were my fault--,” 

Bucky crushes his chest into Steve’s, snaking his arm around the Alpha’s neck and inhaling the last of Steve’s sentence. He kisses Steve the way he always craves to be kissed. The way a person should be kissed when they think no one will accept them for who they are. Bucky kisses Steve as if he can disappear all the years of loneliness and self-doubt. Perhaps he is merely projecting, but he thinks Steve is kissing him back the same way. 

_‘Its just the heat sex,’_ Bucky reminds himself as the Alpha takes him to the tile floor of the kitchen. _‘Don’t make anything more of it. Don’t get caught up.’_ He warns himself while Steve rips his boxers off and shoves the broad muzzle that he calls a nose into Bucky’s thighs. Steve licks at him, making shallow depraved growls that cause rivers of slick to flow from him. Bucky pats the side of Steve’s head and decides not to think at all. He takes what is given to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who would I be without Tori staring at my words asking me to explain myself? This story is for Em. I'm almost sorry.


	5. 73 Percent Synthetic, 27 Percent Unknown(100 Percent Machine Washable Cold)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Indian food, deep talks, Netflix and zero chill. 
> 
> Giddy up, ya'll.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning's for a certain word. Please check the notes at the end for more info. 
> 
> This one is for all the pretty ponies out there. May you ever run wild and free. I hope one of you enjoys this.

Bucky is tossed into a frenzy of heat after Steve takes him on the kitchen floor. The first orgasm Steve gets out of him does little to soothe the ache that’s invaded his gut. Bucky paws at him weakly, accepting damp face kisses from the man. “Steve, more. Please,” Bucky desperately chants. “Steve, please. Don’t make me beg.” He cringes at the pathetic pitch in his voice, but his heat dampers any shred of shame. “Please. I need your kn-,” 

Steve stops him from speaking by taking Bucky’s index and middle finger into his mouth. He sucks and bites Bucky in warning, preventing a plea he can’t satisfy. Steve slides the spit-slick fingers out of his warm mouth and wraps Bucky’s fist around his spent cock. Resisting Bucky’s squirms and protest, Steve gathers his dick in his own massive grip and encourages Bucky to get off using long, tortuous strokes. 

“I know what you need,” Steve growls at him from above. Three of the Alpha’s fingers slip themselves into his entrance, administering punishing propulsion along his prostate. “I know what you need to get yourself fucked stupid, honey.” 

Steve gets him off twice more before gathering him up and carrying him back to his bedroom, where he tosses Bucky onto the bed. Bucky goes slack against the mattress, his freshly washed hair now a tangled, sweaty mess. He gawks at Steve, who strips off his shirt before disposing Bucky of his. He makes a grab for the band of Steve’s boxers, pleading with him in half-spoken words. 

“Steve, Steve, Steve,” he exclaims in unison, feeling dizzy. This was the part of his heat that Alexander adored taking advantage of, Bucky mindless and needy, desperate to please his Alpha. The memories of those lost hours begging for Alexander to take care of him churn Bucky’s stomach. The power imbalance is too much pressure for him to be held under, his entire personality falling aside when it comes to his designation.

Bucky doesn’t realize that he is whimpering until Steve is shushing him silent with light pecks to his lips. “Hey, there buddy. You’re okay. I got you.” He enters Bucky with four of his fingers and kneads them tenderly inside. “I got you, honey. Relax.” 

He submits to the Alpha’s advice, not seeing any other way out. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Bucky plummets into a rare black sleep. It juts him out of time and space, not bound to his physical ailments or earthly woes. He ascends to the surface of consciousness with leisure, absorbing the darkness of his bedroom other than a small warm glow that drifts from his desk lamp. Bucky turns his head slightly to take in Steve's mountain range expansion lying next to him. His left index finger rests comfortably on the cushion on his lips as he reads one of Bucky’s engineering textbooks. 

Steve must realize Bucky is awake and swivels the spotlight of his attention on him. “Hey,” Steve says, voice rough with lack of use. “You sleep okay?” 

For the first time in several months, Bucky is saved from lying when prodded about his rest. He was free of nightmares if only for a couple of hours and he is without the constant discomfort from his residual limb. “Yeah. I slept alright.”

Steve mummers a nonsensical sound and sets Bucky’s book on the bedside table. He leans over and adjusts them both so that Bucky can rest in the crook of Steve’s arms and dips his heavy head near Bucky’s neck. The invasion of having another person in his bed doesn’t agitate him the way it normally would. There’s a nagging pressure in his lower abdomen that means he will have to disturb the gentle giant and answer nature’s call, but until then, he permits Steve the comfort of his body. Bucky settles further into Steve's cozy embrace and imagines them adrift at sea in a lifeboat made for two. 

The image should frighten him, but it sends an odd surge of peace through him. Occurrences of serenity in the arms of an Alpha have been few and far in between for Bucky. He wants to enjoy this snippet of pleasure before it is snatched away. 

Steve nudges at him with his icicle tip nose, running it up and down Bucky’s scent gland and bringing him out of his morose thoughts. “You smell nice,” Steve whispers gleefully. “You smell almost content.” 

Bucky tilts his face to speak to Steve. “I’m never discontent, asshole. You barely know me. Your nose must be off.” The wording is harsh, and Bucky attempts to make up for that by kissing at Steve’s face after he delivers them.

Steve accepts the affection and nips at the side of his neck, making Bucky squirm. He inhales obscenely around Bucky’s throat and jaw. “No way. I’m a bloodhound. I’ve caught your scent, Barnes.” He grins wolfishly and lifts his free hand to form a menacing claw. “You have been forewarned,” he snarls, shooting a thrill up Bucky’s dick.

Biting down his smile, Bucky raises his head lightning quick to lick at Steve’s palm. “Yeah, you should have come with a warning, alright.” Steve arches an eyebrow in mock disbelief. “Why you little-“ he starts in, before tickling Bucky’s sides. 

An honest to God giggle escapes Bucky, and he pushes at Steve in embarrassment. “Get off, you big oaf. I hafta hit the head.” He shakes off Steve’s efforts to pull him back and walks unashamedly naked to the bathroom. The conversation between the men from hours earlier replays itself and he washes his hand while going over the foreign word, ‘Greysexual.’ Steve had said he wasn’t here to treat an illness, but then why keep this enormous detail of his life a secret? If Steve isn’t ashamed why not tell the agency? 

He fastens a towel around his waist and walks back to his bedroom under a cloud of mistrust. Steve is lounging belly down on a good portion of the pillows, tapping away on his cellphone. He gives Bucky a toothy grin when he sits next to him and holds up his cell’s screen for Bucky to view. 

“I figured you’d be hungry and that Indian restaurant that you mentioned in your questionnaire is open for another hour.” Steve makes a few more taps on the screen. “It’ll be here within thirty minutes. Perks of city livin’. You can get anything delivered in an hour.” 

Bucky squints at the order confirmation and is surprised to see Steve has chosen all his favorite foods, going as far as to triple the ordering size. “You didn’t have to do that. I’m sure it’s expensive. Let me pay half,” he proposes. 

Steve plucks the phone from under Bucky’s face. “No, sir, that won’t do. It’s my treat. You’re letting me stay here, and you cooked all those pastries for us. It’s the least I can do.” He lays several kisses on Bucky’s partial limb. “Can’t have my omega starving.” 

Bucky’s back muscles tense up, hearing Steve call him his omega. “I wouldn’t let myself starve. I baked,” he says in self-defense. He can hear past insults of Alexander rushing forth to pollute his present. “I’m not some useless omega who can’t fend for themselves, and I’m not yours.” The sudden rage at the term lurches Bucky to his feet, and he stands over Steve with a clenched fist. 

Steve’s eyes go wide at the outburst, but instead of taking it as a challenge, he lifts both his hands in a passive stance. “Bucky, I never doubted you. I think I just got swept up in the moment and hormones. I apologize.” The quick apology throws Bucky in for a loop. Since he’d been assigned as an omega, he had to battle daily for every shred of dignity he rightfully deserves. Even when he’d proven himself skilled during his early days in basic camp, Bucky was still reduced to this sexual status. 

He unfurls his fist, reminding himself that none of his experiences were Steve’s fault, and rolls out the tension in his shoulder. His stomach chooses this time to rubble with hunger, and Bucky chuckles embarrassingly. “No. It’s alright, Steve. Think I’m just hungry. I’m sorry.” He tightens the towel and adds on a small thank you. 

Steve lowers his hands appearing unsure at Bucky’s statement and he sits up crossed, legged on the bed. “It’s no bother, Bucky. Truly.” He scoots over and pats the indentation of the bed Bucky’s rear end had caused. “Come on and sit with me. Food is on its way.” 

Bucky sighs but sits. He pauses, wrestling with the question he wants to ask, but can’t think of a way to ask tactfully. _‘Screw it’_ he thinks. “You aren’t a virgin, are you?” 

Steve’s head whips up from his phone at breakneck speed. “I’m I a virgin? Bucky, we just spent the past day having sex.” Steve scans his face in bafflement. “Several times.” 

_‘Was that sex,’_ Bucky contemplates. Bucky _had_ been naked, and Steve had made him come like an exploding geyser, but what is Steve getting out of the arrangement? 

He pushes at the carpet with one of his big toes. “I guess it’s just not what normally happens.” 

He feels Steve move closer, and then the rough pads of his fingertips cupping his chin. “I know it isn’t, but I told you. Things wouldn’t go normally with me.” 

Bucky wiggles away. “But you’ve had it before? Actual sex with other omegas or Betas?”

“Well, as I already explained, Buck, I’ve had sex with you. You should remember.” Steve gestures towards the kitchen, his head swirling with ignition. “You were there,” His voice increases with perceived frustration. “Spread out on the floor, moaning, if I might add.” Steve made a fist and pumped it into the air. “My hand was pretty far up you. You took it extremely -” 

It’s Bucky’s turn to hold his hands out in surrender, his hair waving wildly as he shook his head. “That’s not what I mean,” he exclaimed. 

“Yeah, I know what you meant,” Steve speaks over him. 

They fall into tense silence, and Bucky’s stomach crawls with anxiety. He wishes he could tell Steve that he understood. That he doesn’t think of it as a peculiarity that Steve wouldn’t grow out of, eventually. But who is Bucky to tell anyone anything about themselves? He’s a one-armed confirmed bachelor omega with PTSD. Bucky needed to fix himself before he fixed anyone else. 

“Are you actually okay with all this? With me?” The question is thick with Steve’s unspoken fear of rejection. His mute trepidation springs Bucky from his thoughts and to the man who sits waiting for his response. Steve may have been able to put up a strong front of apathy in the kitchen, but here, half-naked and vulnerable in Bucky’s bed, he somehow seems smaller. Easier to damage. It strikes at the iron walls Bucky had constructed in suffering long ago and makes him regret his baseless suspicions. 

“Hey,” he reaches out for Steve, placing his shuddering hand on Steve’s broad shoulders. ‘Why am I shaking?’ he wonders. “Hey, it’s okay,” he regurgitates the same platitudes that Steve had provided him. “You’ve been nothing but great to me. Of course, I’m okay with you, don’t worry.” The wide-eyed smile Steve rains on him makes Bucky shudder further and he leans in for a kiss to hide it. Kissing, fucking, these things were manageable for him, and Bucky wants to make this easy for Steve because he’s been stuck in the same feelings. Fearful and lonely in this very room, wondering if anyone would ever love or understand him. 

Bucky still can’t say that he understands Steve, but he could make the effort. He leans away from Steve’s mouth, ignoring the dopey ass grin that splits his handsome face in half. Nudging him in the crease of his washboard abs, Bucky attempts to turn the tone lighter. “When is the food coming? You’ve got a starving omega on your hands, pal. I’ll do anything for some grub.” 

Steve’s winks at him badly with both of his eyes, making Bucky cackle. “Oh, yeah. Anything, you say?”  
Bucky bites his lip and shows Steve a proper wink. “Yeah, like murder you. If you remember my food order from a restaurant, then you should remember I’m sniper trained.” He pokes one of Steve’s oversized pecs. It feels like steel under Bucky’s finger, and his dick perks up with brief contact. 

He knows Steve can tell that he is ready for another round, and he takes advantage by pulling Bucky into his lap. He goes willingly but puts up a fight for his own ego. “Watch it, shithead,” Bucky jabs at him lightly, but can’t help grinding his ass through the towel. 

Steve dodges the hit and plucks a kiss to his face. “Feisty baby. You don’t wanna fight me.” He cups the ridged outline of Bucky’s dick, who yelps with excitement. “Nah, you don’t want to be mean. Where’s my sweet baby?” Bucky makes muffled grunts of irritation but presses into Steve’s touch. 

“Fuck you,” he grumbles. 

“Nope. Already said we aren’t doing that particular activity, ” Steve chuckles. He drags his knuckles up the length of Bucky's cock, compelling him to squirm as he hinders his moans. “Be a sweetheart, okay?” Bucky whines in aggravation when Steve takes his hand away. 

“Shush, I’m going to give your little cock some attention. Be patient.” Bucky’s face burns at the comment, and he releases a fresh gush of slick. Steve regards him with amusement and licks up the entirety of his hand with one swipe of his immense tongue. Bucky thighs twitch back and forth against the terry cloth softness of his towel, his heat making the cloth feel rough on his ass. “There’s my sweet guy,” Steve murmurs, his own face contorting with lust. “Good baby.” 

“Oh my god, Steve. Shut the fuck up and jack me off,” Bucky shrieks. Steve laughs loudly but works his hand underneath the towel. His palm is a burning instrument of erotic death for Bucky. It encircles him in a vice grip, tugging appreciative sounds out of him. “Fuck. Steve, yes. Oh, please faster,” he instructs. 

Steve picks up the pace, and the noise of frantic skin on skin fills the bedroom. “Like that, honey?” 

Bucky concedes with jerky nods to his chin. “Ngh, yeah. That,” his voice wobbles. 

Steve's fist drags over him in sure, drawn out strokes. “Food’s on its way. You better hurry and spill all over yourself,” Steve whispers into his ear. Bucky’s dick must work on Steve’s command because he comes hard at the order. 

Bucky slumps against the wall of Steve’s chest. “Ugh, we need to shower again.” 

Steve kisses the top of his hair. “Whatever you want.” 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“You wanna what?” Bucky asks, not sure if he heard Steve correctly. 

The food was delivered not long after their speedy shower, and Bucky brings the heavy take out bags to the coffee table. He’d been flipping through Netflix asking Steve if he had ever seen the tv show Nailed it?

“Umm, no,” he’d answered, seeming distracted. “Hey, are you opposed to me feeding you?” 

Now Bucky blinks over him, remote in hand and mouth, slightly open at the question. Steve isn’t looking at him, but Bucky can see that his neck and ears color crimson in embarrassment. He repeats the question, chin dipping in the folds of his dark blue pullover that he’d thrown on after their shower. “You don’t have to, of course,” he mumbles. 

Bucky watches him lay enormous amounts of food out, the TV playing the Nailed It trailer on a loop in the background. “I know I don’t have to,” he says, absentmindedly. He taps the edge of his remote against his bare thigh while considering the idea. “You’d like that, though?” He turns back to television, flipping the show to the beginning of season one. “That’s, ummm. Something you’d like?” He finds the request strange, but it intrigues Bucky to know what turns Steve on. He doesn’t want to stick his dick in Bucky, but perhaps this feeding him thing is somehow the equivalent. 

Steve brightens at his interest. “It is. It’s something that I put down in my kink list, remember?” 

Bucky remembers Natasha’s interruption while he was reading the list and winces at his past freak out. “Sorry, I’ve slept since then.” He sits next to Steve, hauling a container of vindaloo to his lap. Steve eats while staring at the TV, and Bucky tries to recall the last person he hung out with comfortably that wasn’t Clint. Having someone feed him didn’t sound horrible, and Bucky could always deny that it ever happened. Stuffing his mouth with chicken, he listens to Steve wheeze laugh at a fumbling contestant. Bucky hasn’t associated his heat with moments this relaxed in quite some time.  
“Okay, sure. You can do it,” he barks before he has a chance to second guess. 

Steve startles at Bucky’s abruptness. “Oh, feeding you?” he says as if it wasn’t his idea. “You don’t have to-”

Bucky waves his plastic fork in the air. “Yeah. You keep telling me what I don’t have to do. It’s not really any better than telling me what I should do.” He gains pause by taking another bite of his food. “I’m an adult. I can decide if I want someone to baby bird me all on my own.” 

Steve curls his lip in disgust. “I’m not going to chew your food up for you, Buck. Unless you’re into that kinda kink. Maybe I’m not being open mi-,”

Bucky groans out a laugh. “This offer is about to be off the table, fuckhead.” He closes the lid on his takeout and sits up straighter. “How are we doing this?” 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Steve feeding him turns out to be just as strange as Bucky thought it would be, but it’s also unexpectedly calming. He suggests that they both sit on the floor, and with a few minor maneuvers, Bucky finds himself with half his ass on the carpet and the other half sitting in Steve’s lap. It’s an awkward production. Steve ladles curry into his mouth and takes spare bits for himself in between. It’s awkward, and yet sweetly intimate. It appalls Bucky to discover himself melting with each forkful, his limbs losing the rubber band tension that held his war-beaten body up. 

“Do you want more, baby? Or are you getting full?” Steve says in a hushed voice. 

Bucky’s hypnotic trance is broken by the concern, and he glances down to see that Steve’s container of food is empty. “Mmmm I can eat more. Do we have any naan left?” he murmurs. He doesn’t see how Steve reacts to this, but Bucky can feel his delighted assessment along his cheekbones. He works not to show his shame at the asking and is about to put a stop to the entire event when Steve speaks. 

“Yeah, of course, we do. I made sure to order extra.” Steve kisses the side of his face, and Bucky’s stomach wrenches with unusual timidity. Steve encloses him in a fierce embrace with one of his trailer truck arms, positioning Bucky so that he sits entirely in his lap. It’s nearly too much to bear. The dilemma of being brought docile coupled with Bucky’s urge to grapple Steve in a chokehold. 

“Here ya go, sweetness. Open up,” Steve prompts him in a honeyed voice. 

Bucky rolls his eyes but gives in to the command. Steve stares at him while he eats a modest bite of naan. “You’re so fucking weird,” he says, earning himself a light smack on the ass. 

“You too, pal.” Steve’s smile reminds him of melted butter swirling in cake batter. It tugs at something inside of Bucky’s chest. A desire he thought murdered and buried in an unmarked grave. He chews another offered bite and presumes it wouldn’t be horrible to come home to a man like Steve. Bucky struggles to trample the fear that spikes through his chest at the thought, but Steve’s once enduring gaze morphs itself into a smothered pillow thrown over Bucky’s face. 

He jerks, practically colliding the top of his head with Steve’s chin. The flatbread flings from his hand, and Bucky stutters an apology to a confused Steve. He untangles himself and sits down hard on the cold carpet.  
“Bucky, honey. Stop, I’m fine. No harm done,” Steve speaks as if he is a spooked house cat running amuck in the drapes. 

“I’m sorry. It’s all just--” He stops, scouring for the right words, but Bucky can’t find them. “I think I might be tired, still.” He presses his face into the cowl of his dark green hoodie, centering his scattered self with the familiar smells of home. 

“It’s been a hectic day, sweetheart.” Steve dusts crumbs off his chest and into a napkin. He doesn’t sound upset, and Bucky exhales the stress that’d built up in his chest. 

Of course, he had ruined the moment with his overthinking. Why couldn’t he be a normal omega? Why did he fight against his very nature? Why did he fight at all?

_“You speak to me like that again, James, and I’ll fuck up that pretty mouth,” Alexander spat in his face. “You want to act tough in front of my friends? In front of people, I do business with?” He cackled in Bucky’s face. His mouth wide and ugly, all veneer canines and veiny tonsils on display._

_“I wasn’t trying to embarrass you, Alex,” Bucky whimpered. He shook with fervor and nerves. Here he was again, cowering under the absolute power of his Alpha, struck dumb and worthless. “I’ve told you that Brock said shit to me. He called me-,”_

_Bucky was ripped from his defense as Alexander snatched the back of his hair. His left shoulder seized with irritation. “He called you what, huh? A whore? A piece of shit hole that’s only good for rutting into?” Alexander’s hot puff of insults spread down his ear and neck. “Brock said nothing that you don’t already know.”_

_He’d hurled Bucky to the floor of their shared apartment. “Now, you want to bitch? I’ll give you something to bitch about.” Bucky’s knees clacked against the wooden floor, his back muscles tensed with a premonition of damage. The metal jingle of a belt being removed made him flinch. “Alex, please,” he stuttered. Bucky held his arm up even though he knew it was no use. “I don’t want- wait, stop. No!”_

_His words were futile against Alexander’s sharp wrath and the fiery lash of leather that stripped his back. Bucky coiled into himself. Stuck at this point in time forever._

“Honey, honey, honey,” Steve calls to him, rubbing his callous thumb down his scent gland. 

Bucky blinks back to the present, turning sluggishly to stare at the Alpha. Clear blue lagoon eyes marred with concern study him, and Bucky swallows a glob of saliva that has built up. He makes a couple of attempts to talk, and he trembles with every inhale and exhale. “Sorry,” he’s able to say. “Sorry. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I’m trying--,”

Steve crushes him in a perfumed hug. He scents a garden of wilting gardenias in the fall. “Don’t apologize to me. Not about this, not every.”

Bucky doesn’t hug him back, but lets himself go limp in the arms of this kind stranger. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He’d excused himself to the kitchen, scrubbing his hands and face for a stolen moment of solidarity. When he returns to the living room Steve has bagged up the leftover food and is trashing the empty containers. 

“Let me help.” He scrambles to assist. “You don’t have to do that.”  
Steve dips his head and gifts Bucky a tight lipped smile. “You don’t get to tell me what to do. I’m an adult,” he echoes. 

Bucky quits, wiping down the table and eyeballing Steve for hints of anger. “Umm, yeah. I guess you are.”

He carries the food into the kitchen, taking his time to give them both space. Grabbing two glasses of water, he comes back to find Steve standing near a giant bookshelf that holds more knick-knacks than books. He’s holding a framed photo of Bucky, Clint, and Natasha taken around the time he moved in with Clint two years ago. Steve seems sheepish when he catches sight of Bucky, and he sits the photo back on the shelf. 

“Brought you something to drink.” Bucky offers him the glass, resisting the spark of lust at the brush of their fingertips. He’s glad for the first time because of his heat. Conversations can’t get too deep if he’s being railed within an inch of his life. 

Steve accepts the drink and tilts his head at the photo. “Your friends? They look nice.” 

Bucky nods. “Yeah, they can be. The guy is Clint, my roommate, and the redhead is his Alpha, Natasha. I’m shocked they’ve been together for so long. Clint’s a disaster artist,” he snickers at Steve’s inquiring expression. “He’s a good guy. One of the best, actually. He’s just a handful.” 

Steve shakes his head in understanding. “Yeah. I have a friend like that. Tony. His Alpha runs herself ragged, keeping up with him,” Steve chuckles. 

“Doesn’t seem like she’s suffering,” Bucky acknowledges. 

“Nah. Pepper has some tricks up her sleeve to keep him on his toes.” Steve drains the rest of his water and Bucky eyes the bulge of his Adam’s apple as he swallows. Steve clutches the glass with both hands, unaware of Bucky ogling him, or at least pretending to be. He continues to stare at the framed photo, but Bucky gets the feeling he’s miles away. Bucky gets too caught up in what the Alpha is thinking that he nearly misses it when he speaks. 

“You know you can talk to me, right?” Steve says, sounding unsure of his claim. “About whatever or whoever you need to.” His aquamarine eyes seem to stare at the bottom of Bucky's chin. 

It should anger him. An Alpha who believes Bucky is in need of instant protection, but he can somehow tell that Steve's offer is genuine if not circumspect.  
He paints on a charming smile and steps into his orbit. A small act of unflappability that he knows he can hold to settle the timid man. It’s like sliding into a second skin. “That's kind of you to say, Steve, but it isn't necessary.I'm not like your friend, Tony or Clint. Hell, I'm already down a limb. I’d be scared by becoming less of a handful.” 

Steve's face is serious when he faces him, but there's a peek of playfulness to his features. “A rowdy omega isn't the worst thing to have. Plus I've seen Pepper wrangle Tony in action.” He taps his index finger to the edge of his hairline. “I've taken notes.” 

Bucky lets the wrangling comment slide in forego of an argument and steals the empty glass out of Steve’s hands. His lower abdomen aches with a familiar urge and that's the more pressing matter. “Seems like a lot of work just for one person.” Bucky sits both of their glasses on the coffee table, presenting his ass with a prolonged bend at the waist. 

Broad fingers clasp his hips, and Bucky whistles in gratification. He turns, but Steve keeps him in place, whispering deep and much too tenderly in his ear. “For the right person, it’s no trouble.” 

Bucky doesn’t know what to say to that, so he takes the straightforward way out. He grinds his spandex covered ass into Steve’s hips, seductively mewling. Being sweet, as Steve calls it. 

“That’s nice, baby,” Steve says, and Bucky’s inner omega stirs at the complement. 

“I can be nice when I want.” Bucky attempts to face him again, but he is prevented. He pouts, playing up his bratty behavior. 

“Hey, guy. Don’t start that now,” Steve mockingly scolds. He goes quiet behind him, rubbing his handsome muzzle of a face against the strands of Bucky’s hair. “Can I bother you with another favor? A tiny one, I promise.” Bucky grumbles that he better get on with it, glad that the conversation has moved on from his brief break down. 

“Can I braid your hair?”  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
“Have you done this before? Because I need you to understand that most of my personality is tied to my hair?” He glares at Steve who is sitting back on the couch, fiddling with Bucky’s assembled hair products. 

Steve beams at the paddle brush, looking as if he has never seen one before today. “Yes, of course. We rotate hair cutting duties at the station.” 

Bucky clutches the strands of his wavy hair, as if he is Gollum. It is his most precious attribute. “I’m not letting you cut my hair.”

Steve signs when he sees the death grip Bucky has on his head. “Ease up on your locks, buster. No one is cutting your hair off. Now, park it.” He widens his sedan size thighs and points to the space he’s made for Bucky between them. 

“Damn right you aren’t,” he mutters. He folds his legs underneath him, getting comfortable. 

Steve asks him to put on something for them to watch. He turns on the show about the magic postgraduate school, starting up the episode he’d been on before. He stiffens at the slide of the bristles to his scalp, unreasonable alarm swelling in the pit of his stomach. 

Steve strokes his shoulders. “Relax, sweetheart. I got you.” 

“I won’t look as pretty bald, Steve. Trust me, I had to wear a crew cut for years.” 

Steve pets his scalp with the heel of his hand. “I bet you were still a stunner. Don’t focus on what I’m doing right now. Talk to me. Tell me about your show.” 

“Oh, hell. Where do I begin?” Bucky’s mouth is off like a shot, eager to explain the dramatics.

He can’t tell if Steve is actively listening or if he’s merely making the right sounds at the correct time. As he dives further into the explanation, he starts not to mind if Steve is or isn’t. He unexpectedly relaxes while Steve brushes the tangles from his hair, the pauses in his sentences growing extending with each stroke. It’s a rare juncture in time that Bucky is free from the strife of his brain and he notes that it’s him remarkably anxious. 

Bucky's speech drifts, and he fidgets as Steve parts the middle of his hair. “So is this what gets you off?” he rashly asks. 

Steve’s hands freeze for a second but then he clears his throat and starts up as if the topic wasn’t out of left field. “I don’t know about getting off on this, but it gives me satisfaction.” 

Bucky hums noncommittally. “I guess I just don’t get it.” 

“What?” Steve asks

Bucky shrugs. “This whole feeding and hair braiding mess. I’m not some invalid that can’t take care of himself. I don’t understand what’s in it for you? Some kinda cripple kink?” 

Steve stills his braiding. He gently but firmly heaves Bucky’s chin up to peer at him. “Don’t use that word. Not about yourself or anyone else. Got it?” 

The anger that Bucky has been on the lookout for is on display, but rightfully so. He’d been pushing at Steve little by little. Pushing to uncover his breaking point and prove himself correct in this unknown shadow war that Steve is unaware of his part in. Rather than feeling self-righteous, Bucky feels like an asshole. 

He removes Steve’s fist from his face and kisses the curl of it, hoping to convey sincerity. “Won’t happen again. I swear. I’m sorry.” 

Steve seems to regard him warily, but then nods as if in battle with himself. “Watch your program, Buck.” 

Bucky does as he is told, reclining on the spread of Steve's thighs. “Kinda strange that you shortened my nickname more,” he remarks, trying to control the conversation towards a semblance of normalcy. 

“You don’t like it?” 

Bucky smirks. “I didn’t say all that. Just notating how unnecessary it is, that’s all.” 

“Perhaps,” Steve mutters. “You know, calling you pet names, feeding you, making sure you’re comfortable during your heat, it’s all connected to being an Alpha. This societal dedication we’ve all somehow agreed to about Alphas being unmanageably aggressive or our only concern is finding the next hole to rut in is entirely bullshit.” 

Bucky’s eyes widen, listening to Steve speak. It’s the most he’s gotten out of the man since meeting him, and he’s curious to know more. “I can’t say that I’ve given much thought to the complexities of being an Alpha,” Bucky cannot hide the disdain in his voice. “You seem to have the upper hand in everything. School, careers, fuck, even mates. They cater everything towards the whims of Alphas.” 

Steve isn’t quick to counter, his thick fingers massaging at the base of Bucky’s scalp as if in deep thought. “Mmm, you don’t have it wrong there,” he finally says. Bucky can feel the beginning of a braid while he waits for Steve to continue. “I know it’s harder to be an omega. My mom was one and even though she was a fantastic nurse, she was still always seen as an unmated omega before anything else.” 

Bucky picks up on the wording of Steve’s story. “Was?” he asks. 

“Yeah. She passed during my first year at the firefighter’s academy,” Steve explains, sadly. “Worked herself to death raising me alone. I uh, I wasn’t always this big. Had a lot of health problems growing up. A bit of a late bloomer.” 

“Huh,” Bucky tries to picture Steve smaller and can’t fathom the image. He reaches up to grasp one of Steve’s hands and kisses his palm. “Sorry about your mom. She had to be one hell of a woman to put up with a blockhead like you,” he jokes. 

Steve cuffs the back of his head and resumes his braiding. “Yeah, she was,” he says. “She and I thought that I’d grow up to be an omega or even a beta. I presented late, and it was only after I started hormonal treatments.” 

Bucky was taken aback by this information. Steve is physically everything an Alpha is supposed to be, and it’s strange to think that it’s only by his biological design that he is here with Bucky. “Were you happy when you presented as an Alpha?” 

“I was just happy to be _something,”_ Steve emphasizes. “To finally fit in somewhere. I thought all my problems were solved once I was able to check the box marked Alpha.”

Bucky can hear the strife in Steve’s tone. “I’m guessing that wasn’t the case?”

Steve laughs without mirth. “You’ve hit the nail on the head. I’m not sure if it’s because I grew up with the mindset that I was going to be a beta or omega, but when I got out into the world I realized that I wasn’t the gold star standard of an Alpha. I wasn’t attracted to the right sort of people and I’d rather talk about my problems than get into a pissing match.” 

Bucky hasn’t ever heard an Alpha speak this way. “What do you mean you weren’t attracted to the right sort?” He is pathetically interested to learn more about Steve’s past flames. 

Steve doesn’t seem as interested in divulging. “Oh, it’s a long story. Ending isn’t too happy.”

The response is a ward against Bucky’s curiosity, but Steve’s vagueness drives his enthusiasm to know more. He swivels his head to flash his best puppy dog eyes at Steve. “Come on, please. Please.” He kisses Steve’s thigh laying it on thick. “I’ll let you feed me for the rest of my heat,” he rubs his face along the scent gland in Steve’s inner thigh. 

“Okay, okay, okay,” Steve pulls his face out of his lap, leaning down to lick at Bucky’s mouth with the tip of his tongue. It’s good enough that Bucky gives second thoughts to grilling him about his past, but his nosiness wins out. He pulls away from Steve and feels the back of his hair. He’s happy that he hasn’t been scalped and tells Steve to finish his project. 

“Demanding little thing,” Steve taunts him with a slight tug to his hair. 

“Not so little, big guy.” Bucky swats at his knee and faces the television. “Spill.” 

“Sir, yes, sir.” Steve says and continues to braid. Bucky’s groin flares at the honorific and he wiggles along the carpet. Steve may be unable to tell the story of his sordid past if Bucky’s dick had a say in anything. 

Perhaps sensing Bucky’s ever present condition he begins. “I haven’t dated much. First because I was too sick for most of my life, but after I presented I realized I wasn’t sex obsessed the way other Alpha’s seemed to be. I ended up having a lot of bad and awkward sex because I convinced myself it was some lingering side effect of my illness.” 

“Then I meet a woman. A paramedic named Peggy. She was— or is—one of the best people I’ve ever met in my life,” Steve’s voice is wistful as he speaks and Bucky can’t help the jealousy swims inside of him. 

“So what happened between you two?” He shifts uneasily and hopes he doesn’t sound too eager. 

“Well, for one she’s another Alpha. That’s not exactly common for us to be attracted to each other,” Steve says. 

Bucky’s mouth opens slightly in shock. “Um, no it isn’t. How does that even work?” 

Steve chortles. He seems to have finished the braid and traces along Bucky’s ear with the pad of his finger. “The same way any of it works. Peggy had more experience than me in everything. Not just sex, but life and career wise. She was patient with me and understanding about my knot not being welcomed to the party.” 

“But I couldn’t help her during her ruts. We decided to have an open relationship. At least, sexually.” 

“Oooof,” Bucky winces. “That is a shit show waiting to happen. Trust me.” He stops his thoughts from drifting to Alexander and Brock. To those last few terrible months that they’d lived together. 

“It’s not without its difficulties, but they can work. Peggy is even in a happy polyamours relationship now with a beta and omega. I just--,” Steve pauses, and grips Bucky’s shoulder’s, somehow finding the muscle knots without being told. “I just couldn’t stop comparing myself to every omega she would spend her ruts with. I seriously fucked myself and our relationship up because I couldn’t get over my self-doubt.” 

Bucky exhales harshly through his nose. “Steve, that’s a perfectly normal way to feel. Maybe this Peggy wasn’t the right one for you. I mean we--,” he tries not to trip over the words. “We have sex just fine. No knot necessary,” he jokes. 

“Yeah, we get you off pretty okay without that,” Steve agrees. Bucky can tell that he is trying to make the conversation light, but he can hear trances of melancholy. 

“You’ve got a very skilled tongue,” Bucky laughs, deciding to let up on Peggy's topic. “And two capable hands. That’s more than me.” 

Steve snickers and uses the tail end of his braid to tickle Bucky’s face. “Christ, Buck. You’re a dark horse,” 

Bucky angles his head to peek at him. He admires Steve’s golden eyelashes and the pink of his cheeks. Jeez, he’s good looking “And you’re a pretty pony.” He smiles wide and easy, an act that becomes easier the more time he spends in Steve’s presence. 

“Well, giddy up, pard’ner,” Steve deadpans, and hauls Bucky up by his waist. 

Bucky squawks as he’s hauled like a sack of potatoes onto Steve’s lap for the third time that day. Steve swallows his complaints, rocking Bucky’s hips against the thin cloth of his boxers. He pulls away from Bucky’s kiss, but continues to manipulate him, rutting Bucky’s slick coated ass in narrow circles. “Mmm, you wanna see your hair, cowboy?” 

“Nooo, not another nickname.” Bucky hides his face in Steve’s neck, breathing in his scent. He smells like expensive leather that’s been warmed by the sun, like a restful earlier summer morning where you had no place to be in particular. Bucky breathes him in deep, licking lightly at his pulse before meeting Steve’s eyes. “Can’t I go back to being your sweetheart?” If I get a choice in the matter I’d rather be that.” 

Steve closes his lids, and presses his forehead to Bucky’s. “Yeah, you want that? Want to be my sweetheart?” he doesn’t let Bucky answer, sucking on his bottom lip until he can feel it plump up. His spine feels like a cracked glow stick and Bucky can’t remember the last time he’d been this well fucked and exposed. He pivots and twirls his cock into the hard press of Steve’s lap, who leisurely fucks his tongue into Bucky’s mouth. 

“You think you can come like this sweetheart? Come all over my lap because you need it so bad?” Steve asks him in a crude, dirty voice. He plants Bucky’s soaking ass between one of his massive thighs and pulls the front of boxers down, springing forth his swollen cock. “Can you get my lap messy, sweetie?” 

“Ahh, yeah, yeah, Steve. I, I, ca-can,” Bucky stutters. 

Steve slips one hand down the crack of Bucky’s ass, gathering slick he’d help produce. He uses a loose fist to cover Bucky’s untouched dick in his own wetness. “You’ll do it for me, right? All for me?” 

“Yes!” Bucky cries. 

“All of this slick is for me, isn’t it baby? You’re crying for me?” Steve shoves his thigh further against his backside, and tangles his fingers in the folds of Bucky’s braid. “Fuck yourself on me. Ride my leg until you lose it all over me, pretty baby.” 

Bucky’s head is empty as he humps back at Steve. He is a fuck-drunk mess with one singular goal. He is a bottomless pit of want that can never be filled, but he wraps his arm around Steve’s neck and tries, all the same. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Steve is a saint who carries his disgusting body to the shower, where he licks him clean and lets Bucky come on his face. He washes them clean and even attempts to brush Bucky’s teeth. The affection pings at Bucky’s metal heart and he kisses at Steve’s neck and chest, hoping the Alpha can understand how thankful he is to have him there. 

He’s led to bed where Steve sucks him off one last time. As he falls asleep in the early hours of the morning, he hears Steve faint voice. “I really like you, Bucky. I’m happy you picked me.” 

Bucky is so exhausted he can’t tell if he says it out loud or in the depths of his dream world. “I like you too, Steve.” 

His sleep is blank and blissful. Until it isn’t.  
_Alexander stands over his crumpled body, knife in hand. It’s a dream, but also a ghost of his haunted past. “You don’t want to fight me, James,” Alexander says. “You aren’t capable of running away from me. I’ll find you, wherever you go.” He leers over Bucky, handsome and mean. “Now, give me what I’m owed,” he uses his Alpha voice, depleting Bucky of himself. Draining off all personhood. He is a ghost now too. A haunted shell of a lesser being. “You weren’t using it anyway,” his Alpha waves the knife through his ghost, disappearing him. “Now, there’s just me,” he tells the shell of Bucky, happily. His handsome distinguishing features turn ugly with disapproval._

_“Your hair is much too long. Fuck, you’ll do anything for attention,” the dream Alexander sneers. “I’ll fix that.” His face darkens and looms over Bucky’s haunted form. “I’ll fix you. Make you into the perfect omega.” He yanks Bucky’s braid in his fist. “Just a little off the top,” he taunts and hacks off the braid._

_Bucky can’t speak. He can’t beg or cry because he’s dead. Alexander won. He killed the person who was once Bucky Barnes._

_“Here,” Alexander says to a shadowed figure. “You can have the dirty rat tail. James won’t need it.” The figure comes closer, taking the dead hair in his hands._

_“Thank you,” the figure says. It steps closer and the husk of Bucky can see that the figure is Steve. He fondles the braided hair, not looking at the corpse it came from. “It’s a good souvenir,” dream Steve says._

_Alexander croaks out a laugh. “Is that what you’re after? If a trophy is what you want, then that disgusting hair won’t do.” He stares into the dead eyes of Bucky, right into the coffin of his body. “He still has one arm left.” Alexander brings the knife to Bucky’s dead-eyed face. “Let’s see what it does.”  
Bucky doesn’t scream. He can’t make a sound._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The biggest of thank you's to my friend Tori for always being down to beta read my weird porn. 
> 
> *********************************************************************  
> Bucky uses the word "cripple" when referring to himself. Steve's reaction is negative of course and I do write about why Bucky used this term.

**Author's Note:**

> I would be nothing without my unwilling, but kind friends in my Nano Discord group or my Beta reader Tori. She's an incredible writer and friend. You can find her on AO3 under the name thoughtsapper. I hope someone out there likes this.


End file.
